It was so fucking good . . . until it wasn’t.
Damn. Lawry was so happy when I told her Adelyn and I were going out on a date. She insisted on coming over to choose my outfit and prep me for the evening. She said Adelyn wasn’t like the others I had dated in the last few years so I might need a little coaching on the way to treat a woman like her.
No way she could have prepared me for what happened.
As much as I love my sister and desperately need to talk about what happened, I can’t betray Adelyn’s confidence. I can’t tell Lawry we ended the night on a bad note because she asked me to choke her during sex. Which I did.
And I fucking liked it.
I may very well be as messed up as Adelyn.
“We hung out ’til pretty late. Had a bit to drink. You know how alcohol and lack of sleep can kick your ass.” I hate lying to my sister.
“Sounds promising.”
Might as well let her down easy and get it over with. “I don’t think so.”
“Something go wrong?” Try everything.
“Nothing in particular. I just think we’re probably better off being friends.”
“Maybe you give it another shot. I definitely think Adelyn’s worth the effort.”
Lawry isn’t giving up easily. “I think it’s best we’re friends for now.”
“Romantic relationships can grow from friendships. I still have high hopes.”
The worst part of all this is that I don’t even think I’ll get to keep Adelyn as a friend. She couldn’t even look at me. I’m so humiliated. I fear our friendship is broken beyond repair.
I knew going in this would end badly. Why didn’t I listen to my gut? At least then I’d still have her as a friend. I’d rather have that than what remains.
“You need a pick-me-up so come on and grab a cup of coffee before we get started.”
Monday morning production meeting. And the staff at BCC will be sitting in on this one to see how things are done.
I love talking profit, but I’m not in the mood for this today.
Per usual, Tap leads off with financial reports and projections. Lovibond is thriving. Growing. Earning more money than ever before. I should be smiling. But instead, I’m thinking about a redhead covering her face with a towel and telling me to go because she can’t look at me.
“There’s a fuck-up that needs to be addressed.”
“Brou.” If Lawry’s voice isn’t a warning, her eyes are, reminding her husband the staff from BCC is present.
He nods his understanding and moves on to the problem. The batch of sour beer that made it out of the brewery.
“It was a costly mistake. Not to mention putting us behind on production.”
Bacteria. It’s a tricky little bastard in beer production. Not harmful to a consumer but it can turn beer sour.
Porter thumbs through his log. “It was traced back to tank eighteen. Scott sterilized it a second time so the problem should be solved. But we won’t turn out the batch currently in it for another twelve days.” So we wait for the verdict. Not the first time we’d had to sit around and await fate.
Looks like I’ll be waiting for two separate verdicts over the next couple weeks.
Waiting on the beer verdict? Not a problem.
But waiting to see what happens with Adelyn may stretch me more than I can handle.
Adelyn Maxwell
“That is not a smile I see on your face.”
It’s Monday morning. I’ve been fucked. Well fucked. But, sadly, I’m not smiling. Not even a little bit.
Maurice takes a cup from the cardboard to-go carrier. My morning white chocolate mocha. He’s my hero. “Tell your Maury all about it, darling.”
Maury is not the least bit uptight about anything. He flies a very flamboyant freak flag so I tell him things. Very personal things I can’t share with even my best friends, Jill and Kristin. And he never judges.
“You were taking Delicious Honey home with you the last time we spoke.”
“Shit.” My mocha burns my tongue. It’s hotter than normal; I’m here before my usual time. I left home earlier this morning to avoid running into Oliver. “He went home with me. And the night was going really well. We skinny-dipped. Made out in the pool. And then took it upstairs.”
Maury swishes his hand through the air. “Wait. Before this story goes any further, I need to know something. Is Delicious Honey hung?”
“Maury.” I should have known it was only a matter of time before he asked. He has no shame.
He lifts his brows. “Girl, you don’t have to tell me. I know he is. I could see the outline of it last night.”
Oliver’s cock is perfect. But I’m not going there with Maury. “I can’t believe you were checking out my date’s peen.”
“Not my fault. He’s the one who popped a chub. Speaking of which. Are you sure that didn’t happen when he got felt up?”
“I’m quite certain.” Oliver was pissed off. I could see his anger beneath the surface, which was totally fair. He didn’t say a lot about it but he would have had every right. He didn’t. Because of me. And, damn, that makes me like him even more.
“All right. Continue on with the story.”
“So we were having sex.” Doesn’t every great story start out that way?
Maury interrupts me again. “Good sex or bad sex?”
I huff and roll my eyes. “Stop interrupting.”
“I need to know these things.”
“It was great sex. I’d already gotten off once and was working on orgasm number two. And it was well on its way. But then I looked up at Oliver. And he looked all sexy-as-fuck moving over me, pumping away. And I thought to myself ‘You like this guy. You like this guy a lot. You want to be HIS. Make it happen.’”
“Adelyn Maxwell.” Maury is giving me a devilish grin. “Did you do what I think you did?”
“Oh yeah. And it didn’t fly with him. At. All.”
“Ohhh. That’s not great.”
“It was awful, Maury.” I want to cry thinking about it now. “He made me feel like a freak.”
“No one makes my girl feel like that. I’m the only freak around here.” Maury has the hand and neck thing going. He’s pissed.
“He looked at me like I had three heads.” That look on Oliver’s face. Disgust. It’s the reason I keep my preferences to myself. I fear seeing that same expression on Jill’s and Kristin’s faces if I ever told them what I like in the bedroom. Especially Jill. She walks a tight and narrow rope.
Maury is the only person who knows me. I mean really knows me. And he doesn’t judge. I can tell him anything.
“Want me to kick his gorgeous ass?” A one-legged man could beat Maury in an ass-kicking contest.
“Nah, I wouldn’t want you to hurt him.”
“I should probably stick to being a lover rather than a fighter. Might mess up my manicure.” Agreed.
“Oliver wasn’t cruel. He showed genuine concern for my safety.” So fuck me. I like him even more because of it. “He was interested in knowing why I’d want him to do that. I tried to explain but it was a fail.” I’ve never been asked to explain why I like what I like.
No man had ever dominated me sexually until Martin. Sure, I’d had sex with a few boyfriends in college but it was always normal. Missionary. Average. Mediocre at best.
But then Martin happened.
I loved, loved, loved his domination in the bedroom from the very first time he put his hand around my neck. I craved it. Needed it. Most women would freak out over the things he did to me, but that control made him so fucking sexy in my eyes. And it made me feel safe. Treasured. Loved.
Until it didn’t.
Control became obsession.
Dominance became abuse.
I thought that desire had left me, which would be understandable. However, when I looked into Oliver’s eyes, I saw it. Strength. Passion. I felt safe. Treasured. And was willing to submit. Again.
“This is new to Oliver Thorn. He
could come around after he’s had time to think it over. Absorb it.”
“I don’t think so. You didn’t see the look on his face.”
“Well, fuck him then.”
“The thing is, I’m going to see him. We’re neighbors. I can’t not run into him. It’s inevitable even if I try to steer clear. Plus, Lawrence has hired me to plan his surprise birthday party.”
“When is that again?”
“Three weeks away.”
“Let Michelle take over the project. It’s just a birthday party. She can handle it.”
“I don’t want Lawrence to feel like I flaked on her.” This is a professional agency. I don’t get to behave like an amateur because things have become awkward between Oliver and me.
“Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
“That’s right. And boss lady says let’s get to work.” Maybe planning fun events for others will take my mind off my own misery.
Wrong. I’m worthless. So distracted by last night replaying in my head I can’t even choose the tableware for a simple luncheon.
Maury taps on my office door. “Lawrence Broussard is here.”
Shit. Did Oliver tell her what happened last night? Are they close enough he would confide in her? Would he betray me so easily?
“Did she say why she’s here?”
“You have a scheduled meeting. You smokin’ crack, girl?”
“Oh, right.” I can’t believe I forgot. We’re working on Oliver’s party today. Bad timing. “Send her back.”
I get up and smooth my pencil skirt and blouse, nervous to see Lawrence. It’s Monday. Not even twelve hours since the incident. There’s a chance she hasn’t even spoken to Oliver about last night.
But my gut tells me otherwise.
I greet her at the door, and she initiates a hug. Not the sign of a sister who’s upset with me over a kinky sex encounter with her brother. “How are you?”
“Good. Good.” Total lie. Nothing about me is good. “Come around and grab a seat. Let’s talk about this birthday party we have coming up.” I open the file I started for Oliver’s party. “I’ve been in touch with Iron City. It’s available so we’re good for the venue.”
“That’s fantastic. I just know it’ll be perfect.”
“I agree. Very industrial chic.” I actually did some brainstorming last week for Oliver’s party. Good thing since my brain is shit today. “I’m thinking Stout themed since that’s what his friends call him. We incorporate stout in everything. Believe it or not, I found an adult birthday cake recipe that uses a stout beer in the cake batter. And it’s topped with a whiskey coffee glaze. How fantastic does that sound?”
“Yes. Ollie will absolutely love that.”
“I believe so too. Do you think we can get friends and family to contribute photos? I’d love to do a balloon chandelier.”
“What is that?”
“Photos are stringed to the end of helium balloons. It’s like floating memories over the guests’ heads. A fun way to reminisce.”
“That sounds incredibly cool. I definitely want to do that.”
“Dirty thirty photo booth? Or is that asking for trouble since there will be booze?” Photo booths tend to go over really well for birthday parties, but they often get out of hand after the alcohol kicks in. Boobs and boners come out for photobombing.
“I like that idea a lot. Sounds fun.”
“What about guests? How many are you thinking of inviting?”
Lawrence hesitates. “Can we put the party planning on pause for a minute?”
“Sure.” And here we go.
“What happened?” She doesn’t need to elaborate. I know exactly what she’s asking. But how the hell do I answer that question—so I don’t give away too much—when I have no idea what Oliver told her?
She continues when I don’t reply. “I saw you and Oliver together on Saturday night at the grand opening. He was very into you. And you were into him as well. I saw it. Did something go down?”
Oh, no. Something went up. It was shit, and it hit the fan hard. “Things didn’t go as expected.”
“You’re being as vague as him.” Oliver didn’t betray me. “Don’t you like my brother?”
“I like Oliver very much. But . . .” There aren’t words to explain what happened without giving away too much.
Lawrence finishes my sentence. “Things didn’t go as expected.”
“I’m more comfortable with leaving it at that.” And apparently Oliver is too since he didn’t tell her what happened.
“Got it. I’ll stop being the meddling sister.”
“Thank you for not pushing.” I look at my notes. “Number of guests?”
“Let’s go with two hundred for now. I’ll let you know if that changes.”
I’m certain I appear robotic as I go down the list of questions I’ve asked clients hundreds of times. My head isn’t in this meeting. It’s stuck replaying the scene with Oliver last night.
I’m coming again. So fucking hard. That’s the place where I stop the scene in my head and hit rewind. Because everything happening after that point was unpleasant. Unfortunate. Unbearable.
And I’m afraid that’s how it’s going to continue.
* * *
Where did that stick come from? I squeal at the top of my lungs when that-ain’t-no-fucking-stick skids in a wavy motion across the top of the water in my pool.
“Holy-bat-shit-man.” I go to high-stepping out of the pool, pretty sure I nearly accomplish the impossibility of walking on water. Jesus would be impressed.
I stand on the decking and look over into the shallow end at my swim mate. I hate snakes. Despise them. “Oh, no, you don’t. This is my much-needed relaxation after a horrible week, you little son of a bitch. I want to enjoy my pool, and you’re not going to stop me.”
He doesn’t listen. Rude bastard.
This is man shit. Yes, getting snakes out of the pool is man shit. Tommy always did this kind of thing for me.
I miss him so much. When will that ache go away?
Maybe I can call Maurice. Nah. He’d jump into my arms and tell me to protect him.
No choice. Gotta man up and get the reptile out myself.
I grab the skimmer and extend the telescopic pole so I have enough distance to haul ass when I skim him up and dump him in the grass. I shudder because what I’m about to do is giving me the heebie-jeebies. Again, I hate snakes.
I lower the mesh paddle into the water and scoop it under his body. But he swims off the paddle. Dammit.
I make the same attempt a second, third, and fourth time. “Come on, snake. This is your eviction notice. It’s time for you to go.”
I make a fifth attempt under its slithery body. Finally. Success.
I lift the skimmer from the water and quickly move with it toward the grass. And the wiggling bastard falls off, hits the decking, and slithers back into the water. “Nooo,” I yell until a fresh coat of rawness covers my throat. “Get out. I don’t want you here.”
I jolt when Oliver bursts into my backyard through the gate. Carrying a big wrench. “What is it? What’s happening?”
My face pulsates with heat. “There’s a snake in my pool.”
“You should have called me.” No way. I’d swim with the snake before I did that. “Where is it?”
It’s been two weeks since our sexual-encounter-gone-wrong. I was starting to get over what happened. But now he’s standing there all-sexy-as-fuck wearing a smile that makes my wet bikini bottom sizzle. That night, and the embarrassment it caused, comes rushing back.
I wish he’d stayed at his place. I prefer the company of the snake.
“I don’t see it now. I guess it swam into the skimmer basket.”
He goes over and lifts the cover. “Little garter snake. Probably more afraid of you than you are of it.”
“I highly doubt that.”
He reaches in, grabs it by the head, and pulls it out of the basket. “Harmless.”
My
shoulders have a mind of their own and break into a jerk. “Oh, Thorn. Get rid of that thing.” I can’t stand to look at it wiggling in his hand.
“What would you have me do with it?”
“I don’t care. Just make sure he’s departing from my property as he slithers.”
I squeal and bolt when Oliver walks toward me. “I’m not going to throw it on you.”
“My brother totally would have. And often did. I think that’s why I’m the way I am about snakes, and lizards, and stuff like that. It gave him a huge thrill to terrorize me.”
He goes to the fence and lowers the snake into the grass on his property. “All gone.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“Any time. Just give me a holler. Or a panicky scream and obviously I’ll come-a-runnin’.” Oliver hesitates a moment. For a split second, I think he’s going to bring up the incident. Maybe tell me I’m not as vile as he thought.
“Enjoy your swim.” Or maybe he’s only going to tell me to enjoy my swim.
God, I miss his smile. His laughter. The way I felt when we were together.
I. Miss. Him. Does he miss me?
I’m so tempted to ask him to stay. But I don’t want to hear him tell me no. And I don’t want to see the look in his eyes that confirms how repulsive he finds me. “Yeah. See ya.”
As much as I love the contours of his sexy-as-hell back, I hate watching him go. Again.
I need a distraction. Girl time. Talking with chicks about dicks. The anatomical kind and guys who are jackasses.
I call Kristin but it goes to voicemail. “Hey, whore. I’m off today and tomorrow. I think it’s time we have another slumber party. Maybe order way too much takeout from Lazzario’s and absolutely drink too much wine. I’m inviting Jill too so give me a hollah and let me know if you can make it.”
A night with my gal pals. That’s what I need to take my mind off Oliver Thorn.
* * *
Jill opens the oven door and takes out the homemade bread sticks I made to go with our pasta takeout.
I couldn’t help myself. The baking bug bit.
“Lazarrio would beg you to come to work for him if he knew you baked bread sticks like these.”
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