by Kali Hart
“You’re new to town, right?”
“So?”
“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t take you to Maple’s Diner? It’s a local legend around these parts.” It’s a lame line, and by the way she lifts an eyebrow at me, she knows it, too. But a cute smirk dances on her lips. The same lips that spent the better part of the morning pleasuring my cock. The memory has blood pumping down south again. I’m insatiable around this woman.
“How are their pancakes?”
I have her now. Maple’s has the best pancakes. “Best you’ll ever eat. Any flavor you want. Blueberry, banana, strawberry, buttermilk.”
“You had me at banana.”
I tuck away this tidbit of knowledge for safe keeping. I’ll need to remember it for the future. Because Brit is my future.
We’re tucked into the same side of a booth at Maple’s. I expected her to fight me on it, but instead, she made room. No matter what she says or tries to convince herself, she knows she doesn’t want me to leave and never see her again.
“Why the museum?” I ask, tucking am arm around her shoulders once the server takes our order. “What’s so special about it to you?” I need to know what made her desperate enough to be that slime ball’s plus one just to get inside that exclusive party. With the way her eyes dazzled at the displays, it’s something special to her. Something she holds close.
She shifts in her seat, like she’s not eager to discuss something that is obviously quite personal to her. “I’ve always wanted to work there, since I was a little girl. My grandma brought me, and it was simply magical.”
She’s warming up. Letting her guard down. I don’t dare interrupt her.
“I studied art-history in college, just so I had a chance.”
“A chance? At what?” But I think I know where this is going.
“It’s not important.” The easy way she dismisses my question annoys me, but I try not to let it show. I suspect someone along the way made her feel embarrassed by this dream, and she’s trying to keep it close to her heart for that reason.
“You’re job searching,” I say. Though I’m not exactly a detective, I’ve picked up some skills during my military days that taught me to be observant. Skills that led me to creating a successful security company. I know to pay attention to details. “You want to work at the museum. That’s why you went.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She shrugs her shoulders, looking out the window now. “They don’t have any openings. Won’t even take resumes for months.”
I make a mental note to speak to my mom about this. If they’re not even considering candidates, there has to be a reason. I’d do anything to ease the pain laced in those eyes. Anything. “If you could have any one job at that museum, what would it be?” I’m pressing, but I have to know. What is the dream she holds closest to her heart?
“Curator.” She won’t look at me, but her answer came out without hesitation.
“Impressive.”
She assesses me with suspicion in those eyes. It makes me want to hunt down every man who’s made her feel foolish for such a dream.
“How long ago did you finish college?” It’s a pointless question, but a safe one. One that’ll divert the conversation. I’ve known she’s quite a bit younger than me since the first time I laid eyes on her. If she was a day over twenty-four, I’d be shocked.
“Last month.”
That makes her twenty-two. It puts ten years between us. “Does it bother you that I’m older?” The question slips out before I can stop it, but suddenly, it’s important for me to know. Maybe that’s the real reason she’s holding back.
“No.”
“Then—”
The server saves me from demanding answers she’s not ready to give.
“Mmm! These banana pancakes are amazing.” Britt greedily works her way through the short stack, but all I can think about it was it would be like to smear that whipped topping along her skin and lick it off. I’d start with her nipples. I promise myself I will.
5
BRITT
I’d been foolish enough to hope that Harry would’ve gone home and left me alone forever. But the audacity of some people never ceases to amaze me. He’s not just lurking. He’s leaning against the hood of my car with folded arms.
“You don’t get out of the truck.” Luke’s tone is stern enough that I don’t argue. It occurs to me that I’ve never been with anyone this protective. Quite the opposite, actually. No man has ever stuck up for me before. Until Luke. In fact, the last one I dated ran at the first hint of danger. If we would’ve been mugged, I would’ve been the one to save us.
Before I can entertain how nice this feels, I stomp the thought down. I haven’t changed my mind. After I get in my car and drive away, I’m never going to see him again.
I don’t know how I’m going to get that museum job, but I’m not going to rest until I figure out what it’s going to take to get my foot in the door. Working my way up to curator will become my whole life, and that doesn’t leave room for someone else. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Luke parks three rows over, with the front of the truck facing away from my car. “Stay here.”
I’m worried, not for Luke’s safety, but for what he might do to Harry. The man’s a creep, but I don’t want Luke going to jail for it.
“Luke—”
He turns then, halfway out of the truck, and locks his gaze with mine. Such… love. I have to turn around. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
He leaves me with a wicked smirk.
I wait in the truck, as instructed, hands running over each other nervously. That look in Luke’s eyes… it’s too much.
I busy my mind with other things that have nothing to do with Luke or what we did all night long and again this morning. Nothing to do with his strong arms holding me in the shower as his hard dick plunged into me. Shower sex just might be my new favorite kind. I blame the bubbles.
Dammit, there I go again. Lusting after this man, at least ten years older than me, when what I really should be doing is focusing on what it’s going to take to be top choice when the museum is ready to hire someone. I don’t care if it’s just the janitor. I’ll do whatever it takes to get my foot in the door.
I just hope Luke understands why this won’t work.
LUKE
The only reason I don’t pummel Harry in the parking lot the second I see him is because I don’t want to deal with the paperwork and headache that would follow.
From the looks of his frumpled appearance, he spent the night on a bench nearby.
“They won’t release my keys,” Harry tells me when I’m within range.
So that’s why he’s waiting here. Not for Britt. Good.
“If you agree to leave Britt alone, I’ll make a call,” I say, though the urge to smack him across the jaw for the way he treated her last night still pulls at me. “Don’t bother her, don’t call her.”
Harry’s about to say something idiotic. I can tell by that pompous, screwed up look on his face. I take two purposeful strides forward and end up inches from him. I’m looking down at the man, who’s even shorter because he’s still slouched against the car.
“F-fine. I don’t want anything with her anyway. All she talks about is that stupid museum and paintings. Just tell them to give me my keys.”
I ought to pop him in the jaw for that comment alone. I’d do it in a heartbeat if the point needed to be made. But I suspect Britt wouldn’t want me to draw blood. I’m not a rabid animal. Just a protective one.
I make the call, then tell Harry to see the coat check about his keys.
Back at the truck, I open Britt’s door. “Coast is clear.”
She’s wearing one of my t-shirts to cover her dress, and it comes over her knees when she sits like she is. It means she’ll have to see me again, or my scent will linger with her until she comes to her senses. Either way, I’m not asking for it back.
“He’s getting his keys. You
better hurry.”
I hate this rushed goodbye. We haven’t talked about what comes next, and I know Britt is trying to keep it that way. But I’m not.
“Thanks for the ride. Thanks for…” She winks at me.
“Text me when you get home?” I don’t have her number, but this gives me the excuse I need to get it. I reach into her lap, not careful at all with my hands and what they graze as I take her phone from her. She shivers at my touch, that lustful haze I adore so much dancing in her eyes.
I enter my number in her phone and send myself a text.
The walk to her car is silent, but she lets me put my arm around her. Whether to ward off the morning chill or because she craves this closeness as much as I do, I’m not sure. I don’t ask.
As I excepted, she tries to dodge right into her car. But I hold her firmly. “I at least get a goodbye kiss, don’t I?”
Her smile is laced with sadness, and my heart aches to change it. I have a plan, but I can’t tell her. Not yet.
“One goodbye kiss.”
I sweep her into my arms, burying a hand into her thick, dark hair and pull her face toward mine. I kiss her like I might never see her again, and I can’t lie to myself. I’m afraid I won’t. She might disappear on me.
“I have to go Luke.” A tear is threatening to drop, but I let her go. I’m still standing in the parking lot as her car disappears down the street.
It’s not until Harry gets in his car and squeals his tires as he leaves the parking lot that I finally move. I head toward the museum doors. I have someone to see.
“I can’t create a job, Lucas.” My mom is the only one who calls me Lucas. She thinks it sounds formal and proper. I’ve always hated it, but I love my mother. So I tolerate it. Especially now that I’m asking a big favor.
“I’m not asking you to create a job. Just interview her.” I drop the resume on her desk. The same one she confessed that she slipped under the door of the wrong office last night. It’s amazing what information she’ll divulge in the shower when she wants me inside her. My mom, the current curator, is the one who has the power to pull the strings.
“Why?”
Because I love her, and I want to see her dreams come true. But that plea will never work with my mom. She’s a wonderful woman, but she didn’t get where she was in life by letting people walk all over her and demand too much of her. “She’s passionate. Not just about the art, but about this museum.”
“I fail to see how that will benefit this establishment?” My mom, always business.
“Enthusiasm is contagious. She could draw more people effortlessly.” I pushed the resume a few inches closer. “Just interview her. If you’re not completely convinced I’m right, then don’t offer her a position.”
I leave before my mom can point out that there isn’t a position to offer.
6
BRITT
It’s a miracle. It has to be. Somehow the single resume I was able to sneak in last night made it into the right hands. “I have an interview in two hours!” I squeal into the phone to my former college roommate.
“That’s great! You’ve got this, Britt. It’s your dream.”
I hang up the phone and drop back-first onto my bed. Luke’s scent drifts up around me. That damn woodsy cologne is everywhere. But it’s mostly embedded in my sheets.
I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t text him about the interview. We cut ties the moment I drove away. I didn’t text him when I got home like he asked. It was a string I didn’t want to leave attached.
But I desperately want to share my news with him now. He’s the only man that’s ever shown a sliver of support of my dream.
BRITT: Guess who has an interview at her favorite museum?!?!?!
Okay, so I went a little crazy on the punctuation. And maybe added half a dozen smiley emojis, too. But I can’t help. I’m excited.
LUKE: That’s amazing. You deserve this, Britt.
BRITT: I’m nervous.
I didn’t realize until I sent those words to him that it’s true. I’m terrified that I’m going to screw this up. What if my interviewer was at the party last night? What if they realize Harry was my date?
LUKE: Don’t be. You were made to do this.
I want to believe him. I want to so bad. But doubts are creeping in.
LUKE: I’m picking you up at 7.
BRITT: Why?
LUKE: To celebrate. Don’t argue.
Either he knows something I don’t, or he believes in me that much. I roll around in my bed, inhaling deeply to capture every bit of his scent I can. I still have his shirt, and I don’t plan to give it back. Even if I’m crazy enough to agree to dinner.
BRITT: Ok
LUKE: Now get that cute ass ready. Wear a skirt. Skip the panties.
My confidence is soaring when I arrive at the museum. I entertained his request and picked out a pencil skirt. The blazer I have hides just how much that skirt hugs my curvy hips, so it’s appropriate for this interview. But me not wearing panties? Yeah, that makes me feel wicked. But I’ve been fantasizing about dinner ever since.
Maybe, just maybe, I could give things a real shot with Luke. He’s the first man who ever supported my dream like that. Surely he would understand the time I will need to invest in it should I get offered a job today.
I step through the glass doors, and prepare to wow my interviewer. Failure is not an option.
LUKE
“I knew you’d get the job,” I say to Britt as I let her slide into the booth first. I know she’s not wearing any panties, as requested, and I want to keep her tucked away safely in the corner. That pussy is mine. Forever. She’s coming to realize that now.
“How?”
“You should’ve heard yourself in that east wing. It was like you were made to work there.”
“You really think so?”
“Yes, sweetheart, I do. You’ll be the curator, someday. I have no doubt at all.”
She takes a long sip of wine, uncrossing her legs in the process. I can’t help but slide my hand along her thigh until it’s found its way under the hem of her skirt.
I’ve thought about fucking her in that skirt since the moment I first saw her in it. Tonight, I will. But here in this fancy restaurant, I have to be discreet. I slide a finger along her cunt. “You’re so wet,” I growl quietly into her ear.
“Mm-hmm,” is all she can get out.
“So fucking wet.”
“It’s what you do to me.”
My dick was halfway hard from the first touch of her wet folds. But with that comment, I won’t be able to get up from the table for quite some time. Her hand is reaching for my zipper when the server returns with an appetizer.
Her blush is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
I remove my hand. For now. She has to be starving, and I don’t want to distract her from some amazing food.
“It’s still so crazy how they didn’t even have an opening, yet I got a call.”
I don’t like keeping this secret from her, and I fear the truth will come out sooner or later if I try. I want her to trust me. I want her to know I will always do everything in my power to make her dreams come true, too. I just hope she sees it that way.
“What?” she asked, more intuitive than is fair. We’ve known each other hardly two days, and already she seems able to read me like a book when my own family usually can’t tell what I’m thinking.
“I may have helped.”
The hand she had on my thigh pulls away. “What do you mean?’
The fierceness in her eyes leaves my stomach in knots. She’s not just annoyed by this news, she seems downright pissed off. I rip the band-aid off, knowing it’s only fair. “You interviewed with my mom.”
“What?” Her tone, so quiet, is full of fire. I haven’t been afraid of losing her, despite her resolve to keep strings unattached. I knew we were meant to be together. But now, I’m a little scared. “Beverly Reynolds. I should have known.”
“Y
our resume. I made sure it went to the right person.” Telling her she put it under the wrong door, of an office under renovation for the next two months, wouldn’t earn me any brownie points.
“Now I’ll never know if I could do this on my own.” She shoves at me until I move. “Get out of my way.”
“Britt, I didn’t have anything to do with her hiring you, just—”
“I knew better than to get involved.” She pushed her way out of the booth, and shoved down my shoulder to keep me planted in place. “Don’t call me.”
I’m at a loss, there in the booth, when the server comes back with two entrees and a puzzled look on his face. Britt left in an Uber, and I might never see her again. I’m hurt and confused at her reaction. But I respect her request and don’t call her.
Instead, I go home. Alone.
7
BRITT
It’s been a month since I started working at the museum, and every day I fall more and more in love with my job. I’m Mrs. Reynolds’ executive assistant, and though she can be a little stern at times, and has zero interest in any personal life I might have, she’s fierce in her field and a wealth of knowledge. Someone I definitely admire. I handle everything from private tours to marketing to research. I’d live in this office if she’d let me. I dare to hope that she’ll groom me to become the curator when she retires.
“I’m very glad I found you, Brittney,” she says to me as she leaves for the day. The only compliment she’s ever given me, because she doesn’t give them out lightly. I’ll linger at least another hour. I end every shift with a stroll around the museum to make sure everything is in its place. That no one has spilled their beverage on the carpet. That sort of thing.