Fortuity: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (The Transcend Series Book 3)

by Jewel E. Ann

  “There might be a few self-reflective, soul-discovering moments in the book.”

  He releases a soft laugh that sounds more like a cough. “Anything interesting there?”

  Yes. My quirky, sexy, endearing, and rather addictive neighbor. “Our landlord is a great guy. And he’s renting the upstairs of his place to a woman who just got custody of her ten-year-old nephew after his parents died. So Morgan has a friend. That’s where she’s at right now. Downside? He’s addicted to screens, and Morgan is not immune to it anymore.”

  “Well, you’ve got five weeks. I don’t think five more weeks will erase the impact of the previous eight years.”

  “I’m not so sure. The internet is a powerful drug.”

  “Well, tell Miss Morgan we want to see her precious face.”

  I nod. “I’ll have her FaceTime you later. Give mom a hug for me.”

  “Will do. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Dad.” I slide my phone onto the kitchen counter and start unloading the dishwasher.

  The screen door creaks open.

  “Hey, what do you think of flying Grandma and Grandpa Hunt out here for the Fourth of July?” I ask Morgan.

  “I think holiday travel is pricey and not in my budget.”

  I grin, setting a pile of clean plates on the shelf before turning toward Gracelyn. “Thought you were Morgan.”

  She holds up the mug I gave her this morning and sets it on the counter. “No. She and Gabe just left to run to the hardware store with Mr. Hans.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Without asking me?”

  Gracelyn leans her hip against the counter and slides her fingers into the pockets of her denim capris. “She said she’s allowed to make certain decisions by herself now.”

  “Bullshit,” I say on instinct. “Her body might be doing some more mature things, but she’s still ten and needs permission.”

  “I figured you’d think that. I also figured you’d say yes if she did ask, so I didn’t push her to come ask you because I like being her friend.” Gracelyn’s freckled nose wrinkles. “I don’t want her to think I’m parenting her too.”

  I nod slowly.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.

  “Like what?”

  She swallows hard when I take several steps toward her. “Like you’re thinking …” Doe eyes shoot up to meet my gaze.

  “Thinking what?” My tongue glides along my lower lip, stealing her attention.

  “Inappropriate thoughts,” she whispers.

  “Because I am.”

  “Um …” She presses her hands to my chest and trips on a nervous laugh. “We are never doing anything in this kitchen again. So don’t get any ideas.”

  I grin, reveling in the way she can’t maintain eye contact and her fingers curling into my shirt like she doesn’t want me to come closer nor does she want me to step away. “There are other rooms in the house. Doors with locks on them. And I anticipate they will be a while. Morgan likes new things, and she hasn’t been to too many hardware stores.”

  Another nervous laugh before she rubs her lips together, taunting me. “It’s weird. One minute you’re this responsible, doting father, and the next minute—”

  I lean down and brush my lips up her neck to her ear. “The next minute I’m wanting to fuck my neighbor six ways from Sunday?” My teeth graze her ear.

  “Yeah …” she says in a breathy voice. “Th-that …”

  “What can I say …” I kiss along her jaw as my hands grip her ass. “You’ve awoken the beast.” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “Offered him sex.” My lips move to the other side of her mouth. “And left me hanging for five days.”

  When our mouths meet, her nervous demeanor vanishes. Her hands tug harder at my shirt, our tongues explore, and soft moans mesh between us while I carry her up the stairs to my bedroom.

  So many important things to remember …

  I’m leaving.

  She’s staying.

  Sex sobriety is a thing. After a long dry spell, one taste can make a person go insane with need for it. All. The. Time.

  I made it ten years, yet five days felt like an eternity.

  Oh and the really important thing …

  I’m leaving.

  She’s staying.

  Sex not love.

  Sex not commitment.

  “Lower …” she moans.

  I grin, working my way down her naked body. When I stop too long in one spot, like her perfect breasts, her head rolls to the side, back bowed from the bed. Her seductive voice tells me to go lower.

  “God … I like you … right … there.”

  It’s hard not to grin every time she expresses her pleasure. It’s hard not to grin when she reaches for the condoms in the drawer before I get a chance to do it. It’s hard not to grin when she wants to be on top, controlling everything when … she knows I’m going to take that control away from her very quickly.

  Before I flip her over and take back that control, I enjoy the view.

  “What?” She opens her lust laden eyes, hands cupping her breasts. I don’t blame her. They’re fucking spectacular. Her cheeks flush even more when I grin, my hands sliding up her thighs straddling me, my thumb rubbing her clit.

  “You’re sexy as fuck.”

  “Shut up …” She giggles and bites her lower lip to hide her smile as those whisky eyes flutter shut again.

  She’s giving me something. What? I don’t know for sure. It feels equally selfish yet completely necessary. This makes me feel like a man in a way that nothing else does.

  It’s carnal.

  It’s instinctual.

  It’s human on the most basic level.

  After I flip her over, it’s only a matter of seconds before she grabs a pillow and covers her loud chants of gratitude to God. No offense to God, but I’m certain the praise is meant for me.

  Satiated and nothing more than a pile of breathless bodies, we remain unmoving for a few seconds. And … she’s up.

  We have a strict, unspoken, no-cuddle arrangement. It’s called sneaking around to have sex. It’s called a sex only relationship.

  “You should get up.” She glances at me while hooking her bra.

  I prop my arm behind my head. “I will.”

  “Like … now. That took longer than I thought it would. They could be back any minute.”

  “Sorry.” I chuckle. “Maybe next time you shouldn’t hold out for that second orgasm. Pretty damn greedy if you asked me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She steps back into her capris without making eye contact.

  “Well, God does. You interrupted his busy day several times just to brag.” I stand and saunter to the bathroom. “And don’t even get me started on how damn bossy you are.”

  “I’m not bossy.”

  Depositing the condom in the trash, I wash my hands and return to the bedroom to retrieve my clothes.

  Her gaze snaps from my junk to my eyes.

  “You are so bossy.” I get dressed at a slightly less worried pace. “Harder. Faster. Lower. Don’t stop. You’re such a conductor. I should get you a maestro’s baton, or maybe you’d like something more dominating.” Before buttoning my shorts or putting on my shirt, I step in front of her with a wry grin. “A riding crop?”

  With a sexy smirk, she sucks on her finger then presses it to my lips for a second before drawing a line to the waistband of my briefs, her gaze following her finger.

  My dick starts to stand up again, volunteering for another round.

  “I think I ride you just fine without a riding crop.”

  Together we watch her finger teasing my waistband … teasing the head of my erection strained against it. I whisper, “Lower.”

  On a breathless laugh, she withdraws her finger and retreats a step. “Nothing good can come from that.”

  I tug on my shirt and suffocate my dick behind my zipper. “I beg to differ.”

  “Thank you.”

/>   When our eyes lock again, something more serious, more sincere, ghosts across her face.

  “For sex?” I cock my head a fraction.

  A tiny smile curls her lips. “No. Well … yes. Kind of.” She shrugs. “After Kyle and Emily died, I struggled to feel much of anything. It was oddly familiar. I’ve been there before.”

  I don’t say it because she hasn’t told me, but Mr. Hans did. She’s referring to the boyfriend she lost. I want to ask, even though I shouldn’t want to ask. We can’t make this personal. The freckles all by themselves will make it hard to say goodbye.

  “And then I had this huge responsibility. A ten-year-old. Panic … the first real and visceral feeling I had after they died was panic, but you …” Her lips submit to a full smile. “You’ve made me feel something besides panic. So, thank you.”

  After thinking of the correct, kind, yet not-too-sentimental response, I nod once. “You’re welcome. For the sex. It’s the least I can do.”

  She curls her hair behind her ears. “How long has it been since your parents have seen you and Morgan?”

  “Eight years.”

  Her eyes double in size. “Seriously?”

  I nod. “I offered several times to fly them to different locations like Paris and Tel Aviv, but my mom has bad arthritis, so they don’t go to many places.”

  “And you never went home? In eight years, you never dropped by home to do a few loads of laundry or spend the holidays with your family?”

  “Nope. This is the first time we’ve been back in the United States since we left. I figure once I put her in school, we can travel the states over breaks and summers. Road trips.”

  Gracelyn nods before her face wrinkles into a confused expression. “Gosh, I wonder if Gabe is expecting me to take him on vacations. I mean … places besides Montana to visit my parents.”

  “Did Kyle and Emily travel with him?”

  “Yeah. I mean, some. Not every spring break, but I feel like they always took a summer trip. All of his friends have been going places. I was grateful to Mr. Hans for taking him to Disney, even if it was only for two days.”

  I nod. “I was grateful for that too.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you were.”

  “I’m grateful he invited Morgan and Gabe to the hardware store today—even if I’m not happy she went without asking my permission.”

  Gracelyn possesses the unrestrained giggle of a young girl with a gleam in her eye that no amount of tragedy has managed to steal. While I first noticed a shadow of familiarity in her hair, a whisper from my past, it’s all the tiny things unique to her that make it hard to look away and hard to hide this grin. I fear being her pen pal will feel like a crushing consolation prize in five weeks.

  “You should bring your parents here for the Fourth of July, but don’t ask for Morgan’s thoughts on it. Just do it and surprise her. My parents are coming for the holiday.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and frown. “Sounds like a busy, sexless gathering for the Fourth.”

  The corner of her mouth twitches. “That’s not entirely true. My parents have sex every night—still—with few exceptions. It’s always been one of my mother’s June Cleaver, Suzy Homemaker roles.” She fights the full-on grin. “When she explained the birds and the bees—yes, that’s exactly what she called it too—she put it in the context of a goodnight kiss between married people. Something married couples do after they brush their teeth and turn off all the lights. She still says to my dad, ‘Bill, time to turn in and get things done.’” More giggles. “Get. Things. Done. Who says that? I’ll tell ya who … my mom.”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “How does your dad react?”

  “Oh god …” Running her fingers through her hair, she blows out a long breath. “That’s the best part. He swats her ass and says, ‘I’m ready anytime you are.’ And in case you think I made false assumptions about this, I didn’t. The walls in their house are thin; the bed creaks like an old swing, and my dad grunts like an animal in the desert using his last few breaths to make it to a water hole.”

  Snorting, I fist my hand at my mouth and shake with silent laughter.

  “Don’t laugh.” She waggles a finger at me. “I’ve been assured it’s the secret to a long and happy marriage. Not that I’ll ever know.” Her brow furrows.

  I grab her wrist and pull her to me. She straddles my lap, resting her hands on my shoulders.

  “I feel sorry for the dumb ass who left you at the altar. I guarantee he didn’t find anyone who put out every single night.”

  “No …” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t say put out.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to meet your parents.”

  “And yours?”

  I nod. “Yes. I think you’re right. Surprising Morgan is a great idea.”

  “Are you going to tell your parents that …” Her lips press together, eyes wide.

  “Tell them what?” I inch forward, burying my face in her neck, nipping her skin until her shoulder and head jerk together. “That I get things done with my neighbor.”

  “Yeah.” A few giggles. “That.”

  My hands slide up the back of her shirt and my lips brush along hers. “Are you going to leave your balcony door unlocked at night?” I nip at her bottom lip.

  She pulls it from my teeth with a grin. “Sure. But my mom’s a light sleeper, so don’t be surprised if you wake her since they’ll be in my bed and I’ll be on the sofa.”

  “I’m not liking this setup.”

  “It could be fun. Just keep a condom in your pocket at all times so we can seize the moment.”

  Fuck me … this woman.

  I grin. “Get-R-Done.”

  “No.” She covers my mouth with her hand. “Don’t ever say that again. You’re my real-life Scottish soldier—minus the accent and kilt. Don’t ruin it by sounding like a redneck. Understood?”

  I nod once.

  “Guac, let’s get the Frisbee!”

  Our eyes widen as we hear Morgan’s voice on the side of the house by the balcony. Gracelyn flies off my lap and down the stairs. I follow, just not as quickly.

  “Dad, where’s the Frisbee?” Morgan sails through the door as I make my way down the stairs. She eyes Gracelyn standing at the bottom of the stairs, failing miserably at not looking guilty of murder or lewd sex acts. “What are you guys doing?” My daughter eyes us suspiciously.

  “Newsflash, young lady … emphasis on the young. You still need to run your plans by me even if you think you don’t need permission. That includes riding with the neighbor to the hardware store. Got it?” I cup her face and make her look at me.

  “Fine.” She frowns. “Where’s the Frisbee?”

  And just like that, she no longer cares what we were doing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Gracelyn

  Over the next week, a whisper of self-preservation tells me to focus on work, spend time with Gabe, make sure he gets to his last therapy session until after the holiday, soccer camp, laundry, and prep for my parents’ arrival. Basically, avoid Nathaniel Hunt—giver of orgasms, stealer of sanity, man-ban obliterator.

  “I hear something. I think they’re here.” Gabe runs down the stairs, and I follow him, feeling just as excited to see my mom and dad.

  “They’re here.” Gabe tries to slide past Mr. Hans, who’s sliding his socked feet into his Birkenstocks at the door.

  “Sorry to disappoint, buddy, but it’s not your grandparents. It’s my exam van.”

  “Exam van?” Gabe asks, deflating from the news of it not being his grandparents.

  “It’s a mobile screening program. PSA. DRE. And a testicular exam.”

  “A what?” Gabe cringes.

  “Oh … wow. They come to your house for that?” I ask.

  Mr. Hans opens the door. “Just the driveway. It’s like a mobile dog groomer, only for my prostate. And I’m not having them groom anything. Although, I could probably use some tidying up down there.”

 
; Gabe’s face continues to wrinkle in disgust as I press my lips together and snort a laugh.

  “PSA? Public Service Announcement?” Gabe asks.

  Mr. Hans starts to step outside. “Prostate Specific Antigen … it’s a blood test.”

  “What’s the D-thing?” Gabe’s curiosity just won’t let this subject die.

  “Digital Rectal Exam,” he calls just before the screen door shuts behind him.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing you need to know for about forty more years.” I smile, brushing past him to sit out on the deck swing.

  “Oh … that’s not good.” Gabe pushes through the screen door, staring at his phone.

  “What’s not good?” I ask, looking up my parents’ location on my phone. They’re still at the airport, probably waiting for a rental car. I told them I’d pick them up, but Dad likes to have his own car, and he hates letting anyone else drive.

  “I looked up rectal exam. It’s gross.”

  “Gabe …” I give him a sour look. “Don’t look up anything with the word rectal involved. Please preserve your innocence a little.”

  He makes his way to the side of the house.

  “Where are you going?” I pop to my feet from the swing and follow him.

  “I just want to see the van.”

  “Just … stay back. Mr. Hans doesn’t need you gawking at him when he comes out.”

  Gabe keeps inching his way toward the driveway. “I don’t hear him.”

  I stop at the stairs to my balcony and take a seat, laughing. “What do you expect to hear?”

  “If someone stuck something up my butt, I’d be screaming.”

  “Shh … just get back here.” I giggle.

  “Hey, Gabe!” Morgan calls as she and Nate pull into their driveway on their bikes. “You moving?” she asks.

  He shakes his head. “It’s not a moving van. It’s an exam van. They’re doing something to Mr. Hans’s butt.”

  Oh. My. God …

  Nate unhooks his helmet and grins at me as I roll my eyes. “Please tell me he misheard what’s actually happening,” he says, sauntering toward me as Morgan and Gabe circle the van like it’s a spaceship and they can’t wait to see the aliens.