by Emily Snow
"Didn't feel like going to school last year, so I fucking didn't," he'd once told a group of girls congregated around him at lunch, explaining why he was fourteen to everyone else's thirteen and my twelve. His flippant excuse only did wonders for his reputation.
Now that I know the real reason he’d repeated that year, my chest clenches and I feel so small for scoffing at his excuse.
My father died of cancer. Though I was lucky enough to have more time with him than Jace had gotten with his mother, my heart still breaks every time I pass the photo of us at my graduation from Brown. I open my mouth, a harsh sound whooshing from my lungs, but Jace shakes his head.
“Don’t say it, love.”
I toss my hair over my shoulder and lift my brows. “Say what?”
“Don’t feel sorry for me.” He moves me away from him for just a moment so he can stand us up, but then I’m in his arms again, straddling my legs around his waist just like I had when I came in earlier. “I don’t want your sympathy. I just want to touch you. I want to taste you. I want to make things right for you so that when you fall asleep tonight—and make no mistake, Lucy, you’ll be doing that in my bed—you won’t think of your ex-husband or your mother giving you shit. You’ll think of me.”
“Okay,” I whisper, a thrill racing through me when he bumps his bedroom door open with his shoulder. The bed in his room is legendary, better than the one in the photo room back at EXtreme, and I have a feeling I’ll become well-acquainted with it tonight.
“And when you go home tomorrow—” he starts, dropping me on the mattress and reaching for something in his nightstand drawer that’s bound to tease me to the point of breaking. “When you go home tomorrow, fix things with your mum.”
I bob my head, moving it until the lump in my throat dissolves. “I will,” I promise just before cold metal closes around my outstretched wrists.
TWENTY-FOUR
LUCY
Repairing things with my mother is nowhere near as easy as Jace made it seem.
And no matter how many times I sneak in quickies with him at work, or how many times I find myself pinned against the wall of his bedroom after business hours, it still doesn't make the next several days in my life any less miserable. I’m so worn down by the situation with Mom that it barely fazes me when the rest of the office realizes that Jace and I are casually … doing whatever we’re doing with each other after Daisy and Theo walk in on our boss kissing me in the breakroom.
They accept it without question, leaving me to go back to trying to mend the wedge I’d created when I accepted my job without telling her everything.
She isn't furious like I expected her to be. Instead, she's hurt. And not so much about the fact that I work for Jace's company—even though she hates that I promote sex for a living—but because I haven’t been upfront about it. She has very few words for me, and by the time I meet up with Jamie for drinks at the end of the week, I'm a wreck.
“You look like shit. Is Susie still giving you a hard time?” she questions as I slide onto the barstool next to her. Releasing a ragged breath, I drag my fingers through my hair, make a ponytail with my hands, and then let the black locks tumble around my shoulders. Jamie gives me a sympathetic look, her bottom lip poking out slightly. “Has she at least said anything to you?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I signal the bartender then turn to my friend. “Just about everything she says to me is in Vietnamese because she knows I only know a handful of words. Last night, I left my phone in the kitchen, and when she saw me looking for it, she just said microwave, so I guess there’s that.”
Jamie slides her shot of what I'm guessing is tequila between her open palms and runs her tongue from side to side between her teeth. “Please tell me you pointed out to her that you are an adult?”
I sigh. “I told her that, and like I said, she gave me an answer in Vietnamese.”
“She'll come around,” my best friend says confidently.
After the bartender comes over and I order a shot of tequila—which makes my friend do a double take because I don’t usually touch the stuff—I hang my head and sigh. “How’s your week going?”
“My week?” Jamie releases an incredulous breath. “My week has been tame. I mean, I haven’t gotten pooped on, and I have a blind date with one of Dr. Schneider’s friends on—”
Lifting my head, I cock an eyebrow. “Hopefully not with another ass-loving PA.”
“Says the woman whose boyfriend is Mr. EXtreme himself. The ass lover’s fantasies probably don’t have anything on Jace’s.”
I cast her a dark look as I thank the bartender for the shot he places in front of me. “I'm not dating Jace.”
“Mmmhmm.” She rolls her chocolate brown eyes dramatically and mouths a what-the-fuck-ever. “You’ve been sexing up the guy all over the place for the last few weeks, so I’m just going to stick with what I said. By the way, I know you’re holding out on me.”
“We’ve agreed that what we are is … casual.” Because casual is supposed to leave my nerve endings tingling and my heart racing before, during, and after every time he touches me. I tip my glass to my lips and down the shot, wheezing as the fiery liquid rushes down my throat. I’m still coughing when I ask her, “And what do you mean when you say I’m holding out on you?”
“Lucy, the guy makes chrome dicks. You can’t tell me you two haven’t been trying some really kinky, toe-curling stuff.” She sighs, resting her elbows on the bar counter and cradles her chin in her palms. “He didn’t make you sign an NDA for that too, did he?”
Burying my face in my hands, I laugh. Coming out with Jamie is the best decision I’ve made all week—other than finally saying my peace to Tom, which hadn’t even made me feel any better. “Jesus, you’ve been reading too much.” I look up to see her full burgundy-painted lips pressed together. “No, my personal relationship with him has nothing to do with the NDA he made me sign.”
“You and Jace Exley,” she says, then releases a whistle and shakes her head. “I bet he’s incredible.”
Yes, he is, but I don’t tell Jamie that. Instead, I order another shot and focus on ways to fix things with my mother.
My big break with my mother comes approximately three days later, when she comes into the living room shortly after I get home from work, dressed for dinner with her new “friend.”
“Don’t you look hot,” I tease, feeling a lump form in my throat at how pathetic I must sound. I feel like I’m running out of time to connect with Mom—that if I let this go on any longer, we will be irrevocably ruined—and I’m willing to say anything to get her to hear me out.
She spins toward me, blushing. “Really, Lucy?” she says, surprising me because she isn’t addressing me in Vietnamese tonight. She fluffs her black bob and lifts her shoulders. “You’re being dramatic.”
I widen my eyes. “You said that in English, Mom. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
She takes a seat beside me on the couch, and because there are pictures of sex toys pulled up on the screen of my laptop, I quickly slam it shut. She frowns. “Researching for that job?”
“Yes, Mom,” I sigh. “And I really like my job and the people I work with, so it would make things so much easier if you just …”
“Got over it?” she demands, and I let out a strangled sound. I wasn’t going to say that to her, so it sounds much better coming from her lips. “You’re just like your father. He always said that and it”—she moves her hands in front of her chest, searching for the right word, before she finally settles on one—“pissed me off. But I loved him and I love you. I don’t want you to get hurt, Lucy.”
I lay my hand on her knee, wrinkling the soft cotton fabric of her dress. “I promise the big, bad sex toys aren’t going to hurt me.”
She glowers at my phrasing. “It’s not polite to say things like that,” she admonishes, then gets up from the couch and grabs her purse from the armchair. “Will you be home when I return tonight or with that �
� your boss?”
Ugh, does she have to say it like that? When I promise her I’ll be home for the rest of the evening, she offers me a short nod.
“We’ll talk then,” she says, fishing the keys to her SUV out of her purse. “And you should talk to your boyfriend about visiting your mother.”
I cringe at her assumption that I’m dating Jace. I don’t know what the hell we are, but I know we’re not a couple, even if he does do things to my body and mind and soul that wreck me. Flicking my gaze to the armrest of the couch, I plaster on a smile, trying like hell to pretend it doesn’t bother me that I’m Jace Exley’s fuck buddy. It hadn’t been an issue just a few weeks ago, so there’s no reason why I should be affected by it now.
Except, I am.
Something changed the night I went to his house after Tom’s visit, and that shift is undeniable.
When he approached me earlier today at work to ask if I’ll accompany him to Mr. B’s house in a couple of nights to watch the unveiling of the spinning sex table he worked so hard on, I had held my breath. I had hoped that he would tell me he wanted to take me as his and not as his marketing director with benefits.
Of course, he hadn’t.
Still, I agreed to go, hating the way my heart seemed to rattle inside my chest as I waited for something—anything—more from him, even though we’ve repeatedly agreed there won’t be more. “Jace,” I’d said just before he left my office, and he’d turned to face me, skimming his tattooed fingers through his messy dark hair as he gave me a delicious smile.
“Don’t be nervous about B’s, love. I promise I don’t expect you to participate. All you need to do is praise his genius, and I’ll have you out of there before the good stuff starts.”
“Tell him it’s disrespectful to be dating you without showing his face around here,” Mom admonishes, drawing my thoughts from the upcoming party I’m nervous about and the man I can’t get enough of. Despite the toll our casual relationship status is taking on me.
The fact my mother thinks I’m dating Jace makes it twice as bad.
I start to point out that I haven’t seen much of her new “friend”—she had canceled her plans with him the night we were all supposed to go out for dinner—but I stop myself. This is the first time in days she’s said more than a couple of words that I understand, and I refuse to shatter the moment. Plus, even if I say anything and redirect the conversation to her friend, Mom is still so old-fashioned that she’ll only shrug my words right off.
She’ll bring up Jace again, and I’ll feel that pressure in my chest that comes along with feeling things I said I wouldn’t.
Blinking rapidly, I nod at my mom. “I’ll tell Jace what you said.”
TWENTY-FIVE
LUCY
When I went to the last party at Mr. B's house, I was woefully unprepared. In my defense, I had no idea where Jace was taking me, but I was dressed like I was going to work for the day. I don't make the same mistake this time. Sipping on a cocktail while I lounge on Jamie's pillow-happy bed, I watch as she searches for the perfect outfit in the dresses I brought over.
“I can't believe you're going back to that place.” She drags her hands through her curly hair and lets out a nervous laugh. “Is it horrible to say that I'm jealous?”
I freeze halfway into bringing my drink up to my mouth. “You're jealous I'm going to a party where everybody else is having sex?”
She gives me a sheepish look and shrugs her shoulder. “I mean, I'm not saying I want to join in and rub a bunch of guys off,” she explains, “but I think everyone secretly wants to go to a sex party just to see what all the fuss is about at least once in their life.”
“Who are you and what the hell did you do to my best friend? Next thing I know, you’ll be wanting me to personally introduce you to Mr. B.”
“He’s the suit, right? The one who was in Exley’s office that day I brought Chinese?” When I bob my head, she nibbles on her bottom lip. I can tell she wants to say something—her expression is the same it was when she and Mr. B made eye contact that afternoon. Then, shaking her head, she releases a sigh and turns her focus to the dresses hanging on her closet door. “The closest I've ever come to one is walking in on my sister and two guys when I was in nursing school and Mom and Dad were out of town.”
She glances at me over her shoulder just in time to see me wrinkle my nose. “Thanks for the daily dose of TMI.”
“How do you think I felt? It took me years to get the image of my sister getting daisy-chained out of my head.”
The scary thing is, I know the exact position she’s talking about. Realizing that makes me aware of just how much my perception of sex has changed since I started working at EXtreme in January. Because Bella’s face is the exact same as Jamie’s, I blush when the image pops into my head.
“Yeah, well, thanks for that wonderful picture,” I say dryly and Jamie tells me I’m welcome.
She takes a step back and examines the emerald green sheath dress with narrowed eyes. “Oh, by the way, remember when Jace told us he partied with Bells once? I finally got a chance to ask her about it.” She goes silent for several moments, and I hold my breath as I wait for her to finish. Jace isn’t mine. I know that, even if it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep my emotions at bay. Still, I pray Jamie won’t reveal that he has slept with her sister—my friend.
“You’re killing me, woman.” I give her an impatient look, encouraging her to finish, and an apologetic smile breaks her features.
“She dropped him off at some girl’s place one night after he got too drunk and he passed out in the back of her car. It was like nine years ago, but you know Bella remembers everything.” Though I try to suppress it, the sigh that escapes my lips is loud enough to snap Jamie’s dark gaze in my direction. Her grin widens. “Don’t worry, by the way. I didn’t tell her you’re fucking him.”
I flinch. Glancing away from her, I stare at the cocktail on her nightstand for a long time. “To work with small children,” I start, grabbing my drink and turning it to my lips, “you really do have a filthy way of wording things.”
“The children I work with weigh less than a gallon of milk, so I think I’m safe.” Flicking my hazel eyes on her, I take in the sight of her hands on her hips and her white-gold hoop earrings skimming her shoulders as she shrugs. “How exactly did you want me to word it, Luce? You’re the one who’s claimed all along that you and Exley are nothing but a casual thing.”
God, I hate it when Jamie uses my words against me. And I hate that my chest burns when she points out what I said.
After a few moments of silence, she moves from her closet holding a red dress. Tossing it on the bed, she takes a few hesitant steps toward me. “Have things changed?” she probes.
Yes, I want to tell her. Things have changed—at least for me they have. I want to say that whenever I look at Jace now, the flutters of desire have melted away to something else that’s so soft it leaves me breathless. That, over the last several days, whenever he touches me, there's a new gentleness radiating from his fingertips that has me questioning our arrangement. That Jace is a man that I can see myself falling in love with.
I’ve been in love before.
And since the last couple of weeks on my life have been a miserable mess because of Tom’s retaliation, I’m scared out of my mind of falling again.
Especially for Jace, who’s made it clear that he’s not looking for more.
Catching a glimpse of Jamie's wrinkled brow out of the corner of my eye, I place my cocktail on the coaster on her nightstand and lean over to rub my fingertips over the red dress she’s chosen. “You know, I expected you to go for the black.”
She snorts. “Evasive maneuvers, Lucy?”
“It’s hard to sleep with him and not get a little attached.” And by a little attached, I mean that thoughts of Jace are constantly on my mind brain for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I carve my hands through my hair and move my head into a gesture that’s caught be
tween a nod and a shake. “Please, let's just leave it at that.” I’ve so much bad luck with relationships, especially after what happened with Tom, and I'm just scared that voicing my feelings aloud will jinx what I do have with Jace.
She ponders my request for a moment, working her full lips back and forth together, and finally she leaned back on the balls of her feet and nods. “Fine, but the second there's a change in whatever you and Jace are, I want to know.” She plops down on the bed beside me, knocking several pillows to the floor. “You know I'm always rooting for you.”
“I know that.”
“Okay, Cinderella. Enough talk, now it's time to get you ready for your filthy ball with Prince Kinky.”
Clutching the silky red number she wants me to wear to B’s party, I throw my head back and laugh. “Prince Kinky? Hmm … I'll have to tell him you said that.”
Thinning her brown eyes into slits, she playfully punches me in the arm. When I wince, she twists her lips to the side. “Yeah, well, if you do, I'm boob punching your ass next time.”
Jace tells me multiple times on the way to Mr. B's house that I look good enough to eat, and my core tightens each time he murmurs those words. I’m still getting used to being so blatantly open about sex. The fact that he’s never had an issue letting me know every filthy thought on his mind has always been a little mind-blowing, but I accept his last round of praise with a slight smile.
“Thanks.” I dart my focus to a road sign we pass. “You look … nice, too.”
“I should pull over, love,” he says roughly, reaching over to brush his knuckles down my bare arm. I gasp when his touch skims beneath my red dress, nudging the swell of my breast. “We wouldn’t even need to climb into the back seat for me to get a good taste of you. I’ve got ways of licking your pussy without you moving an inch.”
God, he has the ability to drive me absolutely insane with mere words. No wonder I explode every time our skin collides. As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, he lays a possessive hand over my thigh, spreading his fingertips apart until my skin warms to his touch.