Let's Talk About Sext

by Evie Claire

  They were barely on the street before Phebe dropped the donut she’d taken a single bite of and instead took Brody. Greedily grabbing his lapels, pulling him into her, compelled by some deeply felt need to simply have him. The adrenaline she’d needed to get through the night’s drama was leaving her, replaced by a weakness in her limbs. One that begged to be bolstered by his nearness.

  Sugar crystals scraped against the delicate skin of her lips and his, but she liked it. Trapped in their kiss like the unspoken words of love longing to be freed from the cage her heart had put them in. They weren’t words she could yet verbalize, but she could damn sure show it.

  In a kiss.

  But not just any old kiss. One that started on their sweetened lips, washed all the way down her throat and on to other parts of her begging to be kissed. Only it didn’t stop there. Instead it circled her rising nipples and landed with a distinct pinpricked point right under her upper left rib. The place where she felt only Brody. A place she was certain was made solely for him. It was a grounding force in a swirling existence, a mild discomfort that assured her the moment was real.

  What had come over her?

  She pulled away, breaking their embrace long enough to search his face for an answer. Another couple passed on the midnight sidewalk. Bathed in streetlight like actors in a play, Phebe couldn’t care less who watched them. No, she wanted people to watch. She wanted everyone to witness her in the arms of a man she was quickly forgetting how to live without. The thought giddied her—Who was this woman making out in the streets?

  Certainly not the ball-busting bitch she used to be. But fuck it. She loved who she was in that exact moment. Alive in every way one could ever be.

  Fuck her stuck-up world, one that only highlighted the vast chasm between them. Why did their differences matter? His world. Her world. Those were other people’s labels that meant nothing. The space they made together was the only place that mattered to her.

  In his arms, him in hers—was all she wanted. Nowhere else had she ever known the happiness of true freedom. The freedom to be herself and for that to be enough. No apologies over how brutally out of step with normalcy she actually was. Just adored for her eccentricities and admired for something he alone recognized in her. Brody liked her just the way she was. And that was everything.

  In the warm, honeyed depths of his eyes, Phebe found her center. He was it. What held her to the earth like gravity. A shared familiarity they’d managed to find in each other despite all the reasons they shouldn’t have.

  “Brody…” she said against his lips, wanting so desperately to give voice to the emotions overwhelming her at the moment. She loved him. Loved him. It fucking terrified her, but also filled her with a sensation she never wanted to forget—like flying so close to the sun it blinded her, but did so with the most dazzlingly brilliant light, she could never be satisfied with normal sight after witnessing its magnificence.

  And while she could admit it to herself—Yes, I love Brody Cantrell—the insecurities of her heart made it impossible to verbalize such statements…yet. Soon enough. For the time being, she had to find another way.

  Instead of words, she again let her lips speak the love she felt for him as they worked over his. Sensing the kiss’s urgency, he pushed her into the shadows. Up against the wall, brick biting at her exposed back, he pinned her to it with his hips. Taking her neck ever so softly in his hand, he kissed her. Until standing on her feet was no longer a capability she possessed.

  “Make love to me, Brody,” she begged. Overly emphasizing the single word. Still scared of the vulnerability it created in her, she voiced it as best she could and sent a silent prayer to the relationship gods that had brought them together: Please let him hear what I am helpless to say.

  His answer was immediate, though as hopelessly lost in their kiss as her request. “Always, Love.”

  Chapter 21

  Phebe

  In Phebe’s world, the only thing better than make-up sex was lounging in the postcoital glow of make-up sexstasy.

  Tangled together in an intertwining mix of skin and sheets and sweat. So wholly lost in each other, nothing else mattered. It was the only place she cared to be. And the longer she lingered, the more clearly she saw the real reason—she was a better person in his arms. He was changing her, redefining her long-accepted truths. Opening her eyes to the reality that she did, in fact, need a man. One very certain man. God, her life was looking more and more like a Hallmark Channel marathon.

  “I like your friends. Especially Marie.” Brody nuzzled Phebe’s ear. It was her spot, one she hadn’t known she had until he showed her she did. It was like everything else with Brody. He was acutely aware of the parts of her she tried desperately to ignore.

  “Well, she fucking loves your fucking fabulous ass, too.” Phebe giggled at the memory of her drunken friend.

  “Jenn seems nice. It was good to see Brent again, too. I’d totally get drunk with him.” Brody’s hand traced the top line of her hips. She rolled under his touch, leaning farther into him, pressing their flesh more firmly together. The heat of his skin pressed against the chill of hers was the sum total of everything.

  “What do you mean again?” Phebe cleared her throat and fully committed to the new position, swapping sides so she could curl into his chest. Brody’s beard tickled her forehead. It always smelled like soap and coffee. Such a weird combination but one that was so totally him. She inhaled deeply and placed a kiss at the dip just beneath his Adam’s apple. “Have you met through your volunteering?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Well, he probably thinks you’re a total baller now.” Phebe giggled, nuzzling into his neck when she remembered Marie’s other words.

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Brody said with teasing, borrowed confidence.

  “Obviously,” she teased back, blindly reaching for the clutch she’d placed on a nightstand.

  “What’s that?” Brody pulled away, making space between them for the purse.

  Phebe dug inside and found the program she’d folded there earlier. She turned it to the front page, found Brody’s name, and held the place with her nail, turning it for him to see.

  “There was a mistake in the program and you got listed as a platinum-level sponsor.”

  With the program blocking her view of his reaction, she felt nothing but an infinitesimal jolt in Brody’s body. It wasn’t much. But it was enough to open her eyes wider. Two large swallows followed, each one more forceful than the last, causing what she could see of Brody’s throat to jump like a jackhammer. She lifted her face to his on the pillow. She couldn’t believe the emotional change slowly washing over his face.

  “What?” Phebe sat up, holding the sheet to her breasts with one hand, the program in the other, reading it again. Was she missing something? She had to be.

  Brody shook his head, face tight, mouth slightly open as he searched for words that wouldn’t come. “They weren’t supposed to use my name.”

  “Wait, I’m confused, what is this about?”

  “I donated some property my dad left me for a new playground.” Brody sat up, pulling the sheets over his nakedness.

  “What property?”

  “A couple acres.” Brody shrugged.

  “Huh. Where?” Phebe forced positivity into her voice, trying to recall the dollar amount needed to be listed as a platinum-level sponsor. There were certain areas of Atlanta where a couple acres were worthless. Only a very few places where a couple acres would equal a platinum-level sponsorship. Suddenly, perfectionist Phebe was praying for a program mistake.

  “Rhodes Street, I believe. I’ve never actually laid eyes on the property. I didn’t want it. My mom refused to take it. The Boys and Girls Clubs were happy to have it.”

  Ice water seeped into her blood.

  Okay. She calmed herself as best she could. Brody don
ated property. Brody was listed as a platinum sponsor. This could still easily be a mistake. It could also be a slow-motion train wreck seconds from total derailment. Phebe forced a snorty laugh like his confession was mildly amusing. Like he was just fucking with her for some unknown reason. God, please let it be a joke.

  “What exactly did you donate?”

  “It was a piece of property my father left me. One I had zero use for and even less desire to own.” He was speaking in past tense. This fact alone, that whatever it was, it was no longer something he possessed, caused Phebe to swing her body around until she was sitting on her knees, staring down at him, still tangled in the sheets. He bit his lip hard enough to turn it white under his teeth and held it there. As if physical pain were helping him process the one-eighty in Phebe’s demeanor.

  Phebe swallowed hard, purposefully making a show of how desperate she was to calm herself. Not that they were to the point in their relationship of discussing finances, but still. They were business partners. She had called in favors to secure financing for his building. How could he not even think to mention something like this to her?

  “Exactly where is the property?” Her voice was still high and tight, unable to process what she already knew.

  “Rhodes Street.” Brody’s tone was impatient, having already given the answer once. “Across from the new stadium.”

  “Fuck,” Phebe whispered. Anguish, iceberg cold, ran down her body at the thought. It was an area anyone in her field would know. Anyone in the city would know. She closed her eyes, mentally driving down the street, hoping she was wrong. “Two…acres?”

  “Yeah.”

  And there it was. Everything Phebe didn’t want to process. Slowly she closed her eyes and raised a hand to her forehead.

  In her mind, she did a quick calculation. A quick comparable of recently sold properties in the area. Erring on the low end, two undeveloped acres in that area of downtown Atlanta would easily bring five million. Five million dollars, invested correctly, would set a guy up for life. Would supplement a struggling bartender’s wage and allow him the freedom to really make something out of The Guns without her needing to call in any financing favors. It could’ve changed Brody’s life.

  And he had given all those woulds and coulds away?

  Like he didn’t even care to make something more of himself. To try and leave a mark on the world that was his own instead of someone else’s. He’d given up on his own dreams when he agreed to help his ailing uncle. That was admirable. Throwing away a chance to reclaim those dreams out of spite wasn’t.

  Proximity to him was suddenly the last thing she wanted. Flying across the room she grabbed her dress and started shoving herself into it. There were words scrambling up her throat. Words that she couldn’t keep a lid on much longer and words that—despite what felt like his betrayal—she still didn’t want to unleash on him. No, she needed out. She needed to cool her mind. Regroup. Think about things and then…then they could talk.

  “Phebe, wait.”

  “No!” The word erupted from her before she could stop it. “Get away from me, Brody.”

  “Calm down, Love. Let me explain.”

  “Don’t you dare call me Love right now. Do you have any idea what you just did?”

  “Of course I do. I allowed something I don’t need to serve a higher purpose. The property had nothing to do with you.”

  “It has everything to do with me. Everything to do with us!” Phebe’s voice reached a level that echoed through the damn charming rustic rafters. “We’re business partners, Brody. I called in major favors to get financing for our project. I put my professional reputation on the line for you. That Rhodes Street property is easily worth five million dollars. On the low end.” She fished a shoe out from under a chair, still raging. “But besides the fact that you failed to mention having other avenues of income to your business partner…” she absently slapped a hand on her chest, “five million dollars makes a life. Turns your life into something more than slinging beers and pouring booze. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want your life to be everything it possibly can?” Phebe shook her head, utterly bewildered. “You threw that chance away out of spite.” She threw her hands in the air, then covered her face like she still couldn’t believe it.

  Phebe’s words hit him harder than she’d thought they would. He spun to the opposite side of the bed, turning his back on her. His head bowed, he said nothing. What could he say? She continued storming around the room, gathering her things.

  “I have wrestled so hard with my feelings for you, Brody. Despite the reasons why it shouldn’t work, I’d convinced myself maybe it could. But now? Now you’ve basically confirmed every doubt I’ve ever had. Because if this is all you care to be”—Phebe gestured around her, taking in the dilapidated flat that could be a penthouse—“I can’t sit around and watch you waste your potential. You can be so much more than you are.”

  “Phebe…” His tone was patronizing. It only further enraged her. But he stood, turning to finally face her rage, readying for the fight that was coming, like it or not.

  “You never even mentioned to me owning that property. Commercial real estate is my life. This project aside…” Phebe pointed to the floors below them that sat ready for renovation. “…did it ever occur to you that I could help you?” Because that fact stung, too. Like maybe Brody didn’t have the kind of confidence in her she’d…until that moment…had in him.

  “It’s not that at all.” His hands hung uselessly at his sides.

  “Then you’ve got about ten seconds to tell me what it is about.”

  Grabbing a nearby shirt, Brody shoved it over his torso, before turning his hands to the task of yanking at his hair so hard he could’ve pulled it out, one fistful at a time. Emotional torture raced across his face, leaving a resigned grimace in its place.

  “I bet you’ve never had anyone tell you to your face what a fuckup you are.” Brody’s shoulders jerked at the admission. It was enough to shut Phebe up, but did little to soften her anger. “When I told my dad I was dropping out of college to take over Uncle Nuck’s bar, that’s exactly what he told me. Every. Fucking. Day. You have no idea what it was like to be Thomas Cantrell’s son.” His gaze fell off Phebe but continued to seethe. “To watch a man put everything else above his family. To feel like nothing you ever did was good enough. You don’t want to be your mom. I respect that. I refuse to be my father. And I expect you to respect my decision.”

  “Fine. You hate your dad. He was an ass. That’s not a reason to give away millions of dollars,” Phebe said.

  “Yes, it is. My father thought he could buy people. Buy love. And if I take a penny of his money, it would mean he was right. That I was for sale.” Brody landed a fist against his chest to emphasize the point.

  “You conveniently forgot to tell me you’re a trust-fund kid, too?” Her heart ached for Brody, for what he’d been through with his dad. That part she could relate to. But so what? Everybody had issues with their parents. The fact that his daddy issues clouded his judgment so badly made her wonder how well she actually knew him. Especially when his seemingly cool, rational approach to life was one thing she so greatly admired about him.

  “No.” Brody’s word was harsh as sandpaper on a wound. “Let me be crystal clear. I am not rich. The bar barely scrapes by. There are months when the employees are the only ones who get a paycheck.”

  “My point exactly, Brody. You’re renovating now only because I insisted on it. How long have you sat on that property while your debts mounted? By my calculations, including your construction loan, you owe almost fifty grand. Yes, this building will eventually make good money, but not until those debts are repaid.”

  “You’re missing the point, Phebe.”

  “Am I? Because it feels like the other way around.”

  “I don’t want a dime of my father’s mone
y!” he yelled, finally at his breaking point.

  “You aren’t Peter Pan!” Phebe shot right back at him, her anger needing an outlet. Harsh as it was to say such things, it was a release she needed, punctuated by her arms flung wildly in the air. “You’re a grown-ass man with employees who count on you. How could you be so thoughtless about your responsibilities?”

  “I appreciate what a ball-busting professional you are. Truly, I do. But really, it had nothing to do with you. And it’s done now. The property belongs to the Boys and Girls Clubs. End of story, Phebe.”

  It was something about the way he said her name. The inflection he added at the end, the hint of fuck you that hid just barely beneath the surface. She’d heard that plenty of times before, mainly from men just realizing she’d outmaneuvered them. Men who were quickly learning to hate her. It had never been something she’d lost sleep over. Coming from her lover, the tone made her feel like a world-class idiot. She’d considered making an exception in life for Brody. Only to realize he wasn’t willing to do the same for her.

  And now?

  He didn’t even feel like a shadow of the man she’d loved so deeply just moments ago. The fire inside her calmed, replaced by the familiar ice that made not giving a fuck feel like something she maybe could do.

  “Yeah, and you’re just a bartender with daddy issues.”

  They stared at each other, locked in hurt and rage and all the other mixed-up emotions that came when the kill shot was fired over the bow and a ship was so obviously sinking. There was no going back now. She’d burned all bridges, like she always did, like she initially hadn’t wanted to with him. But he’d forced her. And when she felt backed into a corner, she swung with everything she had. It was too ingrained in her to do anything else.

  The moment turned surreal as her words faded into the deafening silence. Brody turned his back to her, his head raised to the rafters for a reason she couldn’t see in his face. A solid minute passed. And neither moved to stop the bleed. Too frozen in their convictions—ones far too different to ever see eye to eye.