Make Me Fall: Bayshore #2

by Leigh, Ember

  “Have you been able to forget about our nights in Bayshore?”

  His voice comes out feather-soft, and that’s when I realize he’s stepped closer again. His breath hits the shell of my ear, and the shiver that dances through me is all the sign I need. I’m a goner. My eyes flutter shut, and I’m pushing onto tiptoes—because even all dolled up, I’m not wearing heels—to get closer to him. To his heat and the solid wall of him and all the best things I’ve been craving for the past two weeks.

  I tip my head, hoping he might give me that which I’m too stubborn to ask for—his lips. His caress. Anything that is masculine and leather-scented and him.

  “Have you?” he asks again, and this time his hand finds the dip of my waist. A low exhale shudders out of me, and I shake my head.

  “Me neither.” His head dips, and his lips find my ear lobe. My core tightens, but somehow I snap out of the reverie. I back away from him.

  “Connor, stop it. This is horrible. How many times are you going to cheat on Tamara? First you start something with me mere days after you break up with her, and now you’re trying to kiss me, while she’s right over there? Not to mention, if you’ve been thinking of me at all while you have sex with her—”

  Connor cups my face in his hands, his warm, rough palms sliding over my jawline. His gaze feels like a slap on the ass. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not going to do this if you’re with her.”

  “I’m not with her.”

  I scoff, trying to turn away from him. But I can’t. He glances around and then backs me further down the hallway, past the edge of the dessert table. The chatter of the party disappears as we stumble backwards into the moodily lit recesses leading to the emergency exit.

  “I haven’t been with her since the end of May. We formally broke up a few days before you and I talked at the bar.” He pauses, wetting his bottom lip. “But I was checked out of that relationship for months beforehand. We hadn’t had sex in over a month. We were together, but in title only.”

  I scowl, but it’s a defense against the effect his words are having. I don’t want to believe him, but lord above, I do. Connor must sense the way this detail softens me, because he runs his lips against my cheekbone. Teasing me. Asking me for permission.

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” He laces his fingers through mine, pressing soft kisses to my jawline.

  “Don’t fuck with me,” I say weakly, but at this point, it’s a formality. It’s me, testing the last of my resistance before I give in completely and receive my bachelor’s degree as the Connor whore I’ve always known I could become. Because apparently, he can use me, ghost me, and corner me at the company party, and I’ll go along with it, no problem.

  The bowtie makes it hard to say no. Among other things.

  “I would never. Though I do plan to fuck you,” he says, a smile curling his lips. He pins me against the wall with his hips, his hands squeezing their way up my thighs through the silky material of my dress. He grunts, looking down at my cleavage. “You look fucking stunning, Kinsley.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I’m serious.” He searches my face. “You won’t be upset when I ruin your lipstick?”

  I giggle. “Come on. You know who you’re talking to.”

  He grins and leans forward, his hot mouth finding mine. We launch into kisses so tender, so brutal, so unforgivingly hungry that I nearly choke on the urgency of needing more. It’s like we’ve been away from each other for years instead of days.

  His hands find the hem of my skirt once he hoists my thigh up. Soon, his rough palm is trailing a path up my calf, over my knee, and all the way to my panty line. When his fingers reach the strappy thong of tonight’s underwear selection, he breaks the kiss. His lips are swollen and smeared with maroon. He peers beneath my dress.

  “What’s this?”

  “My underwear…?”

  He furrows his brow, nearly sticking his head under my dress. “Where are the granny panties?”

  “I thought I’d mix it up. You know, with something actually feminine and sexy?”

  He grunts, looking genuinely disappointed. “Is that why you cut your hair and did your makeup?”

  “I wanted to look nice for once.”

  Connor’s searching my face like he’s concerned I’m not well. “You always look nice. Without all this stuff.”

  The vote of confidence is reassuring. It’s at least nicer than him being relieved I finally look different.

  “You are gorgeous,” he whispers, then he presses his lips against mine again. “With or without the makeup and this sexy dress and the underwear that I really wish I could get a better look at.”

  I giggle as his hands disappear beneath my dress again, but then the real heat and hardness of his feelings make themselves known between my legs. He pulls my skirt up and over where our bodies join. From beneath the fabric of my dress, I can hear his belt clanking.

  “You really want to do this right here?” I’m in disbelief.

  “You don’t?” He waits for my answer, hoisting me so that the tented fabric of his briefs slips into place against the scrap of fabric serving as my underwear tonight. I inhale sharply. Yes. This is what I’ve been missing. The leather undertones of his masculinity settling over me while that ice blue gaze pins me to my spot. Pins me to him.

  It all happens in a flash. He pushes aside his underwear, then mine, and suddenly that slick and swollen cockhead pops into me. I gasp into the starched black fabric of his shirt, fisting the side until it comes untucked from his belt. Connor groans into the hollow of my neck, leaving a damp space there.

  And oh, the magic of our naughtiness. There are fireworks and urgency and tension skating beneath my skin, creating this giddy recipe that has me grappling and begging to come within minutes. It’s like I’ve never had him before. Like this is the last time I’ll ever get him. Like he’s the only one I’ll ever want.

  I cling to his neck while he makes powerful thrusts into my aching core. I want to scream his name until my voice rings through the restaurant, but even in this state I know that’s a bad idea. Instead, I sink my teeth into the ridge of his shoulder, holding on for dear life as he pumps his hips against me.

  “Kins,” he murmurs into my ear. “Sunny-kins.”

  Dammit, he had to go and say that. The pet name sends me on a graceless catapult over the edge. I’m clawing and arching and burrowing into him, all at the same time, needing him deeper inside me than is humanly possible. He’s coming too, with jerking abs and a stilted groan that fills my body. I press my head against the wall, chest heaving as I watch him for some sort of recognition of what the hell just happened.

  He’s disheveled. Broken. Scattered. He presses a kiss to my lips, then another, and then he pulls himself out of me and my feet slide to the floor until I’m standing on glass ankles and Jell-O thighs.

  “Jesus Christ.” He glances behind him while he hurriedly tucks in his shirt. We both work on erasing the evidence of the fuck-fest we just had in the emergency exit hallway. I adjust my underwear, smooth my skirt. I try to wipe the lipstick off his mouth while he laughs.

  “Got a little carried away.” The words remind me of something. The other day in Tamara’s office when I walked in on the two of them. It reminds me of all the things I’ve been stewing over for the last two weeks. All the unresolved questions and lingering hurts.

  I swallow a knot in my throat, unable to control the burble of sensitivity rising within me. He cracked me open with that orgasm, and here are the consequences. Messy, wild, and wounded.

  “There’s one thing in particular I don’t understand,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.

  “What?”

  “Why you would post our pictures to Facebook for only Tamara to see.”

  He pauses as he’s tucking in his shirt, brows drawn together.

  “I know that you did that. You shared our picture but made sure that only she go
t to see it.” I sniff, reaching for my discarded purse. I fumble to get a hand mirror out so I can fix my lipstick. “I know you were using me. The whole time. I thought it was to prove to your family you had a girlfriend, but it was more than that. You used me like my mom warned me about.”

  Connor doesn’t say anything but his gaze punctures me like a knife. And his silence is all I need to hear. It confirms what I know.

  I’m right.

  I wipe off some of the smeared lipstick before I store the hand mirror in my purse again.

  “And you have nothing to say because I’m right,” I say.

  “We need to talk about this,” Connor finally says. “About all of it.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think I want to.”

  “Kinsley.”

  People are beginning to swirl around the end of the dessert table. Nobody seems to have noticed us yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

  “You got what you needed from me, and I got what I needed from you.” It hurts to even say the words, but I need to be strong. I was weak by letting him have me one last time, but going forward, I’m going to do better. Be wiser.

  “Let me explain,” he begins, but I brush past him.

  “Do not follow me,” I say in a low voice, so serious it scares even me. Now that the high of the sex is wearing off, shame and regret crash down around me. I can’t believe I gave in like that. I can’t believe I’d throw away my pride for one last fuck with Connor.

  Connor is the type of cycle that’s too easy to repeat and too hard to climb out of. I learned once. I can do better.

  And if I don’t walk away now, I never will.

  Chapter 29

  KINSLEY

  I get to work on Monday still emotionally hungover from the party on Saturday. Walking away from Connor didn’t feel good, but I needed to do it. I spent most of Sunday crying and doubting myself, so it’s not like I came out ahead after our surprise public sex adventure.

  No, if anything, making love to him one last time in the emergency exit hallway only reinforced how special our connection is. I don’t know if I fully believe him; I just know that A.) the sex happened, and B.) I’m still as confused as ever about Connor.

  It must be a full moon or something, because everything is a little off in the office. It seems like everyone who walks past me grimaces, for starters. Lena sends me a text as I breeze into the HR department: Are you here???

  The air is taut. For once, Tamara is already there, her office door cracked just enough that I can hear her throaty hiss as she talks to someone on the phone. As I set my purse down and ready myself to sit, Tamara’s voice cuts through the air, causing some of my coworkers to startle.

  “Kinsley. Now.”

  That tone doesn’t sound good. I silence the flutter in my gut that whispers the grimaces and the text from Lena and now this are all connected. Inside her office, Tamara is already seated behind her desk and looking at some papers. “Shut the door and sit down.”

  I do as she says, clearing my throat. I toss her a bright smile. “How was your weekend?”

  She drags her gaze up to meet mine, and it nearly slices me in half. “Excellent. You’re fired.”

  I blink a few times as I struggle to wrap my mind around her words. They don’t make sense. Not even a little bit.

  “Did you hear me?” she snaps.

  “I…I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve been giving you passes for too long. The list of grievances against you is a mile long, and enough is enough. You can pack up your desk immediately and vacate the premises within a half hour.”

  My mouth parts. “But…what grievances…I…”

  “You are one of the most difficult generalists to work with. I consistently receive reports that you are awkward or inappropriate or showboating.” Tamara lists names of our colleagues, and includes Connor, which feels like a low blow. “Your performance review was enough to warrant your termination, but since I’m nice, I gave you another chance. That ends today.”

  My head is swirling, but not because I’m upset. No, I can’t piece together her version of my performance with my own lived experience. It’s like she’s using notes about somebody else and applying them to my file. She calls me Kinsley, though, so it’s not like she’s mistaking me with some other strawberry blonde in the office who used to have a long-ass braid and no longer does.

  It’s ridiculous. And there’s never going to be a way forward with her. I feel that lava bubbling inside me, the same stuff that Connor helped me notice. I laugh. “Okay.”

  “You think this is funny.”

  “No, I think this is outrageous. But whatever.” I sigh, pushing to my feet. “Is that all? Because I’ve got to go pack up my desk in the most awkward, inappropriate, and showboating fashion possible.”

  Tamara’s eyes narrow to slits. “Go. You have a half hour.”

  I pull a face at her, which is childish. But at this point, I couldn’t care less. I only hope it’s as awkward, inappropriate, and showboating as she expects from me. I storm back to my desk and pull open all my drawers. When colleagues cast curious glances my way, I say, “I was fired.”

  A hushed ripple of shock rolls through the room. Everyone’s eyes move to Tamara’s door, which I left open in my haste. Nobody is bold enough to question further while she’s listening.

  I pack. And stew. And laugh like a crazy person. And continue packing.

  Once my half hour is almost up, Tamara’s heels tip tap out of her office. She crosses her arms, looking like some sort of modern office Disney witch. “Time.”

  I roll my eyes. I’ve filled my purse to the brim with the sundry objects and books I’ve kept in my desk space, along with personal pens, a stapler, my favorite paperclips, and post-it notes. I take desk readiness seriously, and hell if E-bid is going to inherit my fuchsia paperclips.

  I take my leave without another word. And each step that carries me closer to the world outside sends a ripple of relief through me.

  Finally. I’m gone.

  And though I’m jobless in San Diego, which has always been the thing I’d been avoiding, I feel like I have more direction than ever before.

  Tamara firing me was the biggest gift she could have given me.

  Now I just need to figure out how to run with the ball from here.

  Chapter 30

  CONNOR

  Something is seriously amiss. The other developers are talking about some big showdown in HR, and every murmur of gossip sends my gut deeper into a knot.

  Because somehow, I know it’s related to Kinsley and me. I just know it.

  It wasn’t smart to have sex at the office mixer on Saturday, we both knew it. But dammit, passion doesn’t abide by propriety or etiquette or sometimes even public decency. We were quiet about it, I reason. We kept to ourselves. It’s not like anybody saw.

  But still, I can’t help but stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I rationalize that I’m going to Tamara’s office to check in again about the WeGo interview, but really, I’m on the lookout for Kinsley. When I hit HR, she’s nowhere to be seen. And her desk looks ransacked—drawers hanging open, computer turned off, and no sign of her ugly white cable knit sweater hanging on the back of the seat.

  Something is really wrong.

  I knock on Tamara’s door, and she calls for me to enter. She doesn’t look happy to see me, which is weird, because she usually at least pretends.

  “Hey, how’s it going—”

  “Our deal is off.”

  Her words are delivered like a gun shot. The door clicks shut behind me. I check to make sure she hasn’t blown open my chest cavity.

  “Why?”

  “The arrangement that you and I made specifically required you to stay away from Kinsley.” Tamara is scowling so hard I think her mouth might slide off her face. “And since clearly you can’t do that, then I don’t think I can push through this interview for you.”

  My mouth falls open. “What in the actual hell?
”

  “I saw you two at the party. Real classy, by the way. You two are disgusting. I do like you, you know. Even though you’ve been an asshole, I’ve decided to let you keep your job.”

  Her words flow through my body in the same way as a logjam. She saw Kinsley and me fucking at the party. One mistake of many. But not the biggest mistake of them all. Not by a long shot.

  My biggest mistake was partnering with Tamara in the first place. And I cannot believe that after all the push and pull of WeGo, after all this needless drama and harassment with Kinsley, she has the gall to act like she’s doing me a favor.

  “And what about Kinsley?” I finally force out.

  “She’s gone.” She flicks her wrist like getting rid of a booger. “That was the first order of business today, and good riddance.”

  Her words make something hot and mean streak through me. I suddenly hate her so much that I could fucking tip her desk over and throw it out the window. Not because she broke the WeGo agreement.

  Because she fired Kinsley for no good reason other than jealousy.

  Jealousy that I inspired.

  Which makes this all my fault.

  “Good riddance, huh?” I sniff, propping my hands on my hips.

  “Yeah. She’s a fucking whacko. And so intolerably awkward.” A scoff shoots past her lips. “You have no idea. You don’t work with her day in and day out.”

  “I just spent two weeks with her in Ohio.”

  “Then you know.”

  “Oh, I do! I know she’s beautiful. I know she’s sweet and thoughtful and so innocent at the same time she’s wise. I know she gets excited and jumbles up her words and something really wrong comes out which usually ends up being hilarious. I know she falls asleep while reading books in the sun and gets weird tan lines.” Jesus, I could keep going for days. “She’s not awkward. She’s funny. There’s a huge difference, but I wouldn’t expect a humorless bitch like you to ever notice.”

  Tamara is watching me like I started speaking Hebrew.

  “You didn’t need to be so cruel to her,” I go on. “She was trying to do a good job and be innovative and helpful. Instead, you made her feel like a piece of shit. Probably like you do to everyone in your department.” I sniff again. I’ve started pacing the office, and I could put a fist through her wall and still not be sated. “Hell, probably the whole company. How many other guys are you stringing along like you do me? It’s people like you who ruin it for the rest of us. Who use their power and decisions like some sort of shackle.” Holy hell, if only there were a soundtrack to accompany this diatribe. It would be intense.