by Lacey Black
“Who are you looking for?” I ask, coming up behind her and looking around.
Suddenly, we hear the back door slam. Lyndee brushes past me a second time, her body pressing against me as she rushes by. “There you are,” she sighs, stopping as she reenters the kitchen area. “Where did you go?” she asks the man who is using a walker to get around the space.
“I took the trash out and then needed a little air. The temperature is really dropping,” he replies, breathing labored just a bit.
“Why don’t you sit down? I don’t want you to overdo it,” Lyndee advises, moving across the room toward the motorized wheelchair I missed earlier.
“I’m okay,” he insists, yet moves toward the chair. She hovers nearby as he shifts the walker to the side and carefully sits down, taking a deep breath and relaxing once he’s settled.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asks, already heading for the massive refrigerator along the wall.
“Just a little water, I guess,” he says, finally turning his attention to me. His light brown eyes observe me with open curiosity, his cheeks pink from the cooler outdoor temperature, and his dark hair is in disarray. “Who’s this?” he asks, taking in my appearance in the doorway.
Lyndee hands him a bottle of water before glancing my way. “This is Jasper. I went to college with him.”
The eyes of the man I assume is Dustin light up. “Really? You knew Lyn back when she was all awkward and ugly?”
The comment surprises me greatly, as does the laughter spilling from his lips immediately after he says it. “Who are you calling ugly?” she gapes, hands on hips and staring at the man in the wheelchair.
He turns to me and says, “Notice how she didn’t dispute the awkward?” He smiles before taking a drink from the bottle.
“Well, even I will admit, I was a tad awkward when I was younger,” Lyndee grumbles, crossing her arms and giving the other man the stink eye.
He chuckles heartily before tucking his water into his side and moving my way. He stops directly in front of me and extends a hand. As I reach down and shake it, he says, “Dustin Gibson, Lyndee’s brother.”
His introduction catches me off guard. Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting the sibling connection, but now that I know, I see the resemblance. The same hair and eye color, the shape of their face, and the slightly upturned nose. They’re definitely related, which seems to ease the discomfort I’ve felt in my chest since the moment I heard Lyndee asking about Dustin.
“Jasper Kohlmann,” I state, returning the hand gesture. “I own the restaurant across the street.”
His eyes light with delight. “Really? Lyn and I were just talking about ordering out later this week.”
I give him a smile. “Tell me when and I’ll prepare everything personally.”
“What kind of burgers do you make?” he asks, leaning forward just the slightest as he eagerly awaits my reply.
“All kinds. We have a wide menu of specialty hamburger options, and our fries are hand cut and seasoned.”
“I can’t wait to try one. Lyn, let’s get burgers tonight,” he tells his sister with a huge, hopeful grin.
“We’ll see, Dustin,” she replies, glancing at me with narrowing eyes. The way she stares, it’s as if I’ve somehow opened my mouth when I shouldn’t have.
Why are women so damn confusing?
She’s the one who started a business directly across from mine, yet she makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong here. Crossing my arms, I pin her with a look of determination. I’m not going to let her swoop in and threaten my livelihood, my business.
“I’m going to head back,” I state.
“Thanks for stopping by,” she quickly replies, clearly a little eager to get me out of here.
“Hey, Jasper?” Dustin asks, stopping me before I can move for the exit. “Do you know anyone who can help move that counter and display?”
“Dustin,” Lyndee chastises, her mouth moving but no words coming out. She pins him with a wide-eyed look. “I’m sure Jasper has more important things to do, like run a business.”
“Yeah, but you said you were going to ask the guys across the street for help,” he says, confusion written all over his face.
“Or the ones at the bank next door,” she argues, her fight losing steam rapidly.
“But Jasper is here now. I bet he has a few friends who can help,” her brother suggests, unable to understand why Lyndee is so against asking for my help.
Deciding to cut her out of the conversation, I turn to Dustin. “I can help. I have three friends who co-own the restaurant with me. I can ask a few to help. When do you need it moved?”
“Tomorrow morning would be best,” Dustin replies. “We’re going to finish setting up the front tomorrow but need those big pieces in place to complete the job.”
“What time?” I ask, completely ignoring Lyndee as she stammers and tries to interject herself into the conversation.
“Eight or nine? We’re at your mercy,” he says, “so you pick.”
“Isaac and I are both there by eight. I can get Jameson or Walker there too if I give a little notice.”
“Lyndee was going to make treats.”
“Hello,” she finally says, catching our attention. “Do I have any say here?”
“Of course,” her brother assures. “But you said we needed help for that part, and Jasper is willing to help.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Yeah, but—”
“No buts, Lyn. My friends and I would be happy to help a neighbor in need,” I inform her, crossing my arms over my chest and leaving no room for argument. “Plus, I’m anxious to taste your…sweets.” My voice drops low and borders on dirty, and I can’t help feel a touch of satisfaction when she blushes.
“Well, I’ll be sure to bake a few things for your friends,” she replies, intentionally leaving me out of her statement.
A wolfish grin spreads wide across my face. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it as much as I will,” I add, sliding a pair of sunglasses on. “Dustin, it was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning.”
He offers me a wave. “Nice to meet you, Jasper. See you.”
I turn my attention back to Lyndee. “And I’ll see you tomorrow too,” I proclaim, heading for the back door. As I move past her, I add in a whisper, “Don’t forget my…payment.”
She makes a noise, a combination of a gasp and a growl, and I can’t help feeling a slice of excitement sweep through my veins. Lyndee Gibson, right across the street on a daily basis. Lord help me, I’m actually looking forward to it. I’ve never sparred with anyone like her, and the prospect of going toe to toe with Miss Gibson again has me all sorts of enthusiastic. I may not know what brought her here after all these years, but it’ll be fun finding out.
Suddenly, I can’t wait until tomorrow morning.
***
By the time I head home for the night, snow flurries are falling. As the sun dropped, so did the temperatures, just enough for light snow that won’t even stick. We’ve been fortunate to have fairly mild temperatures for mid-December, but it appears winter has finally arrived.
I head out to my warm car, thanks to automatic start, and slide inside. The dinner rush is well past, and the bar side of the business is starting to come to life. Even for a Monday night, we have a steady stream of customers stopping by to unwind after a long day.
I pull out of the back parking lot and turn left on the main roadway through town. I can’t help but take a quick glance as I pass, noting the bakery lights are all out, indicating Lyndee and Dustin have already gone home for the night. Not surprising, since it’s past eight. Lyn was always more of an early bird, like me. I imagine operating a bakery would require more early hours than late ones, though I can predict she’ll have both of those the first few months.
I know we did. When we started Burgers and Brew, the four of us worked our asses off, seven days a week. Often, I opened, cooked lunch and dinner, and the
n closed down the kitchen too. Partly because I thrived on the thrill of knowing everything was done to my exact specifications and demands, but also to help save money. We put a lot into the start-up, and those first six or eight months were the hardest to get through.
But we did it.
We were able to turn a profit fairly quickly, and as business continued to pick up, we added more employees. Walker hired more help behind the bar, and Isaac and I brought in even more kitchen and serving staff. We had enough to get by, but with a rapidly growing business, we needed more and fast.
Five years later, we’re still evolving.
I pull into my driveway, pressing the button for my garage door opener. Once the door is closed behind me, I slip out of my car and head for the entrance off my kitchen. I purchased this house just a few years ago, an older four-bedroom Tudor home built in the early nineteen-hundreds. It’s undergone a few renovations over the years, but the key elements in a Tudor home are still there. Steep gabled roofs, decorative timbering, and embellished doorways, it’s all part of the charm.
On the inside, the previous owners have kept the elaborate woodwork, fortunately. I removed the nasty floral wallpaper when I purchased it and had to refinish some of the flooring due to slight water damage but tried to keep the house true to design. All except the kitchen. That’s the only room I modernized to my taste. Sure, the cabinets are still classic, the trim original, but the counters and appliances were updated. It’s a combination of old-school and contemporary and perfect for my favorite room in the house.
I remove my shoes in the mudroom off the kitchen and set my bag on the kitchen island. I don’t have any necessary work to complete, but I always bring my laptop and bag home, just in case. Mostly, I like to make notes or examine recipes, especially at night when insomnia gets the better of me.
First up is a shower. After spending all day in front of a grill and near a deep fryer, I always take time to wash the day off my skin. As I strip off my work clothes and toss them in the hamper, a certain little pixie filters through my mind, and I’ll be damned if my cock doesn’t start to harden.
Dammit.
As much as I try, I’m unable to push away thoughts of Lyndee and seeing her in person for the first time in so many years. She’s exactly as I remember her, yet with new, unfamiliar curves to her petite body. I’m rather annoyed I even noted the swells of her breasts and her hourglass hips. Oh, I always notice those attributes on women, but this isn’t just any woman.
This is Lyndee.
My intent was to take a quick shower and head down to make something for dinner, but the moment the jets hit my back and chest, my body starts to relax a little and I feel myself letting go of the day’s stress. Well, all except one particular element, but I refuse to think her name. Or of those luscious tits I’d kill to get my hands on. Or the way her paint-splattered leggings molded to her round ass.
“Fuck,” I groan, leaning my forearms against the cold tile. The shock of cool on my skin does nothing to alleviate the fire suddenly racing through my veins. I try to ignore it, but there’s a familiar throb in my groin that won’t let me forget.
I take my hard cock in my hand and give it a squeeze. My balls draw up, anxious for release. I move swiftly, the water making it easy to slide along the rigid length. I can feel precum beading on the tip as the familiar tingle sweeps up my spine. I try to think about anyone else, but I just can’t do it. Lyndee is front and foremost, the fantasy of her pouty lips wrapping around the head of my cock, her warm tongue dancing down my burning flesh. When I close my eyes, she’s all I see, all I feel, as if she were literally on her knees in front of me.
Unable to hold back any longer, my orgasm barrels through me like a tornado, ravishing and destroying everything in its path. I call out the only name on my lips and mind, both a blessing and a curse. I come harder than I think I ever have, my legs wobbly, my body sags against the wall for support. It’s hard to breathe.
“Shit,” I grumble, reaching for the bar of soap and rewashing my body, as I wait for the guilt to slide in. It doesn’t, however. I’m left feeling sated and rejuvenated, ready to tackle every obstacle before me.
Except Lyndee.
That’s one hurdle I need to avoid like the clap.
Nothing good can come from befriending her once more, not that we were ever really friends. We never got to know each other personally, outside of school, and were more adversaries, both in the kitchen and out of it. We kept our battle friendly, pushing each other’s buttons without letting it turn bitter or nasty, and at the end of those years, walked away without so much as a backward glance. Oh, I’ve thought of her over the years, dreamed of her narrowed brown eyes when she’d dispute something I did and remembered the smile she’d give when she got the highest grade on a lesson. Yet, I’ve always been able to push those remembrances to the back of my mind, locking them up behind a thick wall.
Now, she’s here. In Stewart Grove. Directly across the street. There’s no way to hide from her. Not that I’d want to. I won’t let her wield that kind of control over me.
I’ll do my thing and let her do hers. It’s not like we run in the same circles or anything. I’ll go on with my life, running and continuing to build my business, without giving the small bakery across the road any thought. That means not letting her gorgeous face infiltrate my private, dirty thoughts in the shower, or out of it.
Except, I know that won’t happen.
What is the saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Should be easy, considering I’m helping her set up her front area tomorrow morning. I’ve got this.
Lyndee Gibson, prepare to be brought closer than ever before. If you have something planned, I will figure it out and won’t let you get away with it.
Chapter Four
Lyndee
I slept horribly last night. I was plagued with images of Jasper standing in my kitchen, staring at me with those consuming dark eyes and condescending smirk. The exact same grin he always wore back in school. The one that said he was better than everyone else there, including me.
In some ways, he was.
I’ve never seen a more naturally skilled chef than what I witnessed when Jasper was in the kitchen. He was calm, collected, and under complete control of his environment. Witnessing him work was like watching the sun setting over a crystal blue ocean landscape. It was gorgeous and serene, a sight to behold. I can only imagine what he’s like now, as an adult.
Back then, he was driven to be the best, which pushed me to be even better. He used to focus his culinary skills on appetizers and entrées, while I worked on perfecting desserts. Oh, he gave them his best shot, but he could never top me in that department. Especially his pecan pie. It was the one dish that I was able to best him at.
Glancing out the window, I see the light dusting of freshly fallen snow covering the ground. I knew it was coming but had hoped it would hold out just a little longer. As pretty as it is, I’m more of a spring kind of girl. Bring on the scent of impending rain and blooming flowers. Sure, the snow is pretty for a short time, but then it turns dingy and dirty. Not to mention I have the coordination of a baby deer learning to stand for the first time each and every time I try to walk in it.
It’s not pretty.
“Dustin,” I holler in the hallway, just outside his bedroom door. “Do you want to go with me now, or would you prefer I come get you later?”
His door opens immediately, and he appears at the threshold with a smile. “I want to go now,” he says, using his walker to exit his room. “I really liked Jasper. I was hoping to talk to him more,” he adds, stepping past me and heading down the hall.
My heart hammers in my chest. I want to shield my brother from Jasper, but I know I can’t. He might be my little brother, but at twenty-eight, he’s still an adult. And, I think he’s lonely. Sure, we’re close and spend all of our free time together, but there was no missing that flash of excitement and longing in his brown eyes. He hasn’t m
ade any friends since we moved to Stewart Grove, and that’s my fault. I should have done better introducing him to people in the area. A fresh wave of guilt settles in, making me feel like I’m failing him.
When he reaches the end of the hallway, he stops and glances back. “Do you think he likes baseball?”
His question saddens my heart. Dustin loves baseball, even though he was never given the opportunity to play. When he was younger, Mom couldn’t afford a lot of the physical therapy he required to make him stronger. Often, we were without insurance, the cost well outside of her monthly budget as a single parent. So, he had to watch from the bleachers or couch. When he was seven, he decided Cincinnati was his team and has been cheering for them ever since.
“I don’t know, Dust,” I answer honestly.
“I’ll ask him,” he replies with a shrug, turning back and moving through the condo. When he reaches the kitchen, he stops in his tracks, his eyes widening with worry. “What if he’s an Indians fan?”
I bark out a laugh. “Well, I guess you’d have someone to dispute favorite players and weird stats with.”
He makes a face, one of annoyance. “It’s not weird, Lyn, it’s great. Plus, we all know Frank Robinson is the greatest Reds of all time.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “If you say so.”
“Come on, a thousand and nine RBIs in five thousand five hundred twenty-seven at bats. Three hundred twenty-four home runs, Lyn, with a .303 batting average. How amazing is that?”
“Pretty amazing,” I mirror, unable to hide the hint of boredom in my voice. I’ve never gotten into baseball, have always found it fairly boring. Actually, sports aren’t really my thing. I’d rather curl up with a good book and hot cocoa underneath a fluffy blanket or sit on the back porch as the sun starts to drop below the horizon. That sounds like a good time to me, not spending hours watching men swing at a ball with a stick.
But I do it.