by Remy Rose
But first—it’s work, and high-cal, high-sugar, high-fat food: glazed donuts, onion bagels slathered with cream cheese, chocolate croissants because Stu is pretty much a girl when it comes to chocolate, overstuffed finger sandwiches and platters of crackers, cheese and pepperoni.
We don’t call it Fat Friday for nothing.
I’m at my desk working on a quote for Rolls Royce when Lou appears and leans against the door frame, a sugary donut in his hand and a saccharine smile on his face. “Hey, Lane. I’m gonna need to do an extra workout tonight after all the sweets.” He raises the donut and then pats his bulging upper arm. “Don’t want to start getting soft.”
And here’s the part where I stroke his ego, even though I really, really don’t want to. “You don’t need to worry, Lou.”
His face brightens. “You think?”
I make my sigh as quiet as I can. “Yes. You’re looking good.”
He winks at me slyly. “You coming on to me, Laney?”
“No, Lou. Not at all.” In any way. Ever. Until the end of all life as we know it.
He snorts with laughter, his eyes darting from my face to my boobs. I cross my arms in front of my chest and lean back in my chair, drilling him with my gaze. This is one of about seven thousand things I’m not going to miss when I leave here.
“It’s prolly best. Workplace romances usually end up sucking. Anyway...thanks for getting the food. One of the things you’re really good at.”
This is probably how they’ll remember me, after I leave here: she bought good donuts.
Lou’s eyes return to my chest.
And she had nice tits.
“Get me the receipts for the food so I can reimburse you.”
“Thanks, I will.”
He’s smiling at me—a genuine smile, not his usual leering/creeper kind of smile, and I’m thinking how Lou isn’t so bad, not really.
“Any clients call you lately about shaft support, Laney?” He’s trying to say it straight-faced, but his lips are twitching.
And here’s where I mentally retract the whole he’s-not-so-bad thing.
* * * *
After trying to calm down a client who’s irate about a late shipment, running out to get Tylenol for Stu, and dealing with a cranky machinist who probably needs to get laid, I’m pretty much thrilled to be on my way to Maddie’s after work. I’m getting there a little before everyone else since she says she’s got two things to tell me—one good and one she hopes I’ll understand, whatever that means. I’ve been pondering what these two things could be, and that’s been interspersed with little sparks of excitement thinking about seeing Damon tomorrow night. Just knowing that something will most likely happen and not being exactly sure what that something entails makes my chest swell and my lower parts ache.
Mads is in yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt—perfect girls’ night at home attire—and holding Murphy as I come to the door with a bag of leftover Fat Friday that Lou told me to take. Murph is squinting contentedly, and Maddie makes his paw wave at me. “Say hi to Auntie Lane.”
I rub his head. He’s purring like a motorboat. “I hope that when I get a cat, he or she is just like yours.”
“He’s the best. And you may not have to wait that long.” She’s smiling as she closes the door behind me and sets Murphy on the floor.
“Oooh, are you saying that I may be out of my non-pet-friendly apartment soon?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. How does a closing of April 29th sound?”
I throw my arms around her. “Oh my God, soo good! Right after I close, I’m going to jump on my inventory order.”
“Have you been looking online?”
“Yep, a lot. I have a pretty definite list of all the things I’ll need, and I’ve been researching refrigeration systems. I’ve even picked out a name and décor.”
“Oooh, tell me!”
“Memory Lane Café, so part of my name’s in there, and it’s going to have a retro theme.”
“Oh, I freaking love it, Laney! That’s perfect.”
“Thanks. I’m so excited.”
“I can tell! I love, love seeing you like this. Come in the kitchen with me...I made a pitcher of raspberry margaritas. We can pre-game before Amanda and Kelly get here.”
“Hells yeah.” Following her, I can smell the spring-y fragrance of a lilac candle burning on the windowsill above the sink. There’s a bright array of veggies and fruits on the kitchen table. I take a couple plates out of the cupboard and fill them up with the finger sandwiches and crackers and cheese I brought. “What’s Jack up to tonight?”
“Out with Owen watching the Sox home opener.”
“You two okay with being apart for a few hours?”
She grins as she hands me a margarita glass. “Barely.” Her expression turns more serious. “Hey, I need to tell you something I did.”
“Slept with our hunky Business 101 professor to boost your grade? I already knew that.”
“Very funny. But no.” She hesitates, biting her lower lip as she tips the pitcher to fill my glass. Her hand is shaking a little. “I hope you aren’t going to be mad. Please don’t be mad at me.”
“Kinda hard to be mad at you when I don’t know what you did, Mads.”
“Ugh. Okay. I got you to go to New Moon so Golden Boy—Damon—could meet you.”
Well. This is a bit of a surprise. I take a second to process it, mentally rewinding to that night. Maddie had been persistent about me going, and she’d seemed nervous when we were there. It all makes sense now.
“Are you mad? I’m sorry. I honestly would never have set you up like that because I know how you are about guys.” She’s getting babbly now, her dark eyes pooling with anxiety. “The only reason I did it was because of that reaction you had when you saw him the first time—I thought there might be something there, so when he happened to show up at my office—totally randomly, since he wanted to sell his condo and buy a new place—I felt almost like it was fate. Please don’t be mad at me.”
“Relax, Mads—I’m not. Not at all. I know you were doing it with the best of intentions.”
Madeline expels a long, slow sigh of relief. “Phew. Still love me lots?”
“Of course. Always.” I give her an air kiss and take a sip of my margarita.
“Plus, it’s working out well, right? With you two dating now.” She smiles at me, her face slack with relief.
Guilt scrapes at me, thinking of how I’m not being honest with her. I know she’ll understand and forgive me, though, when I tell her later.
“Yes. It’s working out very well.” A hidden shiver ripples inside me as I wonder if I’ll be saying that after I allow things to get more intimate—most likely tomorrow night.
“Let’s get this par-tay started, bitches!” Amanda, making her typical boisterous entrance with Kelly, Maddie’s next-door neighbor. There are hugs all around, and then everyone heads into the kitchen, filling up margarita glasses, because hey, first things first.
Amanda sets her canvas bag on the counter and takes off her Yankees cap. “Check this out.” We all stare in surprise at her new red hair color.
“It’s...nice,” I tell her.
She snorts, raking a hand through her short crop. “You don’t have to lie. It’s a fucked-up dye job. Looks like day four of my menstrual cycle.”
Kelly bursts out in laughter. “I mean, if that’s what you were going for, she did a damned good job.”
We’re all cracking up, even Amanda. “I appreciate all of your support, whores. I’m getting it toned down tomorrow.” Reaching into her bag, she takes out what she brought.
“Oh my God. Funyuns? They still make those?” Maddie looks incredulous.
“Of course they do. It’s only one of the best snacks ever created. I probably should have brought breadsticks from the restaurant, but then I was like, fuck it. I want Funyuns.”
We bring our food plates and margaritas into the living room. Maddie tells her Echo to play Adele
, because girls’ night is even better when Adele’s part of it. I seriously love getting together with my besties like this, curling up on couches and chairs and feeling all curled-up and cozy inside myself, too, glowing with the anticipation of girl talk, giggling and female bonding that can be equal parts silly and glorious.
Amanda and Kelly don’t know about my new business venture or boyfriend yet. I told Mads I’m waiting till after I close on the building to tell people about the café, and I know I need to tell them I’m dating someone so that it appears that I’m actually dating someone, but I’m not quite ready to discuss Damon tonight and deal with questions. I’m already stressed enough about the probability of getting intimate, and as much as I love these girlies, if they got a whiff of even the slightest sexual activity, they’d track it like bloodhounds.
Speaking of whiff, Murphy catches the smell of my tuna finger sandwich, his delicate pink nose twitching. He jumps up on my lap, and I let him stay, petting his head with one hand while finishing the sandwich with the other.
“I like watching you stroke your pussy, Delaney,” Amanda smirks.
“I’m sure you do. My mother actually thought you and I would make a cute couple.”
Her eyes are round with surprised pleasure. “Jesus, she did? I’m game, sweets, if you are.”
“You’d be my first choice if I was lesbo. But I’m not.”
She sighs, rustling in her bag of Funyuns. “Ah, my shitty luck. I’m destined to be a gay spinster, I guess.”
“Oh, stop. You’ll find someone, with all the people who go to your restaurant.”
“Maybe. Haven’t yet.”
“What about you, Lane?” Kelly’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet, looking up at me with interest. “Any prospects? Not trying to be rude, but we married people love hearing about single people hooking up. Brings us back to those carefree days.”
“Nosy bitch,” says Amanda cheerfully, throwing a Funyun at her.
I can feel Maddie looking at me. “Nothing really yet. But I think I’m more open to it.”
“Good for you!” Kel nods in approval. “You gotta get out there.”
“Yeah, if she’s not into women, she should find a good man. No sense in wasting a pretty vulva. You do have a pretty one, right?” Amanda lifts an eyebrow.
“It’s gorgeous. Christ, you’re unbelievable.” I’m shaking my head, laughing.
“Guess you’re the one we’re picking on tonight, Lane. I remember,” Amanda muses, looking over at Madeline, “having a similar conversation about Ms. Callaway here, where we were all encouraging her to fuck her carpenter.”
“And I did,” Maddie says, raising her glass and smiling.
“Let’s make a toast.” Kelly lifts her nearly-empty glass. “To fucking...whether it be hetero, lesbo, married, single...past, present—and future.” She winks at me.
I share a lot of things with these women, but none of them know why I’ve been so cautious, so closed-off about sex. It’s like I’ve had yellow CAUTION tape staked around me. But Damon Cavanaugh—he’s the first person to make me want to take that all down and replace it with a big ole OPEN FOR BUSINESS neon sign. He feels quite safe, because he is not real, and he has an expiration date.
He could be the one who can help me get over my hang-up.
The tequila inside me is mixing with growing excitement and pent-up desire, because damn...I want to give myself permission to try with Damon Cavanaugh, my faux boyfriend with a very, very real body.
I’ll drink to that.
Chapter 13 / Damon
There are some things I’m going to miss about living in Northeast Harbor. Kayaking in Somes Sound to see Bear Island Lighthouse. The Lobster Risotto and Daymark Pale Ale at the Asticou Inn. How the sun’s been my silent alarm clock in my current bedroom, sliding through the crack in the drapes and teasing my eyes open. But I’m pumped about my new place in Hancock—I’m going to have the ocean in my backyard, breathtaking views, more space and more privacy. I’m a lucky bastard.
I was finishing up my Saturday morning run—Tommy had asked me to go to the gym, but I decided to run outside where it’s so mild—when Madeline called to tell me my offer on the Hancock house was accepted and that she received a pre-qual letter from a buyer on The Condom. So things in the real estate department are falling into place, but the rest of my life feels unsettled. The impending arrival of Portia amped up the stress, although I have to say that so far, she’s not as bad as I anticipated. I was picturing a cold, stuck-up bitch, but she’s turned out to be quite unassuming and actually nice. Talking to her on the ride to her apartment from the airport was surprisingly easy, and I got a charge out of her British accent. She’s gorgeous and refined—if I was looking for someone, she’d definitely turn my head, and I know my mother must be gloating over how attractive she is. But first, I’m not looking for anyone, and second, I’m not feeling it with Portia. Part of it is probably because of the way she acts toward me—friendly and warm without being flirty. I have a feeling, though, that the lack of initial chemistry is due to something else.
But I know things can change, so I’m going to be on my guard with Portia—and with Gloria, who’s going to be pushing like hell. Then there’s the pull of my fake girlfriend, and knowing I need to watch myself in that regard, too—making sure I keep my feelings from tangling up with my dick, and being careful not to confuse either one of us.
So for all these reasons, I’m damned grateful for my happy place, because being there like I was this afternoon is grounding and calming. Even though I’m there to help, the place ends up also helping me—every time.
I’m in my bedroom closet starting the packing process boxing up winter clothes when my phone rings. It’s Delaney. Seeing her name on the screen makes my insides clench up. I wanted her to be the one to initiate the next move, and Christ, I hope she wants to see me tonight.
We’ll find out.
“Hey. Missing your boyfriend?”
“I think you meant to say fake boyfriend. Whom I just found out was in cahoots with my real best friend.”
“Ah. You talked to Madeline. We were going to tell you later.”
“We? It sounds like quite the conspiracy plot.”
“It was. You mad?”
“Yes.”
She’s not. I can hear it in her voice that she’s not.
“Let me make it up to you.”
There’s a pause, and I can picture her smiling. “That’s so selfless of you.”
“I’m just that kind of guy.”
Another hesitation, and then her words come out in a tumbled rush, like she can’t hold them in anymore. “Do you want to come over tonight?”
A slow warmth begins inside my chest, spreading out to reach into every corner of me. “Absolutely. What time?”
“Is 7:00 okay? I’ll make an appetizer and a dessert.”
“7:00 sounds perfect. What would you like me to bring?”
“Nothing, thanks. Just you.”
The way she says that makes me grin. “I’ll think of something. I’m not going to show up empty-handed.”
“All right. It seems like you usually get your way.”
“Oh, I do, Sprite.” I hesitate, because concern is overriding my horniness that typically equals the amount of water in my body. “Are you sure about me coming over?”
A little laugh from her. “Honestly? No. But I want you to, if that makes any sense.”
“We can go slow. I’m not going to pretend it won’t be hard for me—literally—but I won’t do anything you’re not ready for. And slow can be really, really sexy, Sprite. Just sayin.”
I can hear her sharp little intake of breath, and the sound goes straight to my dick. Jesus, this will be a challenge. But I’m up for it.
So to speak.
* * * *
Delaney opens the door just as I’m raising my hand to knock on it. “Hi,” she says breathlessly. “I saw you drive in.”
I take a second to study her,
and I can’t stop the grin from grabbing my lips. I’ve never known a woman to look adorable as hell and sexy as fuck at the same time, but Delaney’s rocking it.
“Sorry I didn’t dress up. I hope you don’t mind that I went for comfort rather than style.”
Uh, no. I don’t mind at all. “You look fantastic.” I step into her apartment, wiping my shoes on the mat.
She’s wearing a white tank top under a thin, peach-color sweater and flowery stretchy pants that I really want to see the back of. The sweater is big on her, or maybe the neck is supposed to be wide like that, but the end result is that one of her shoulders is bared, and I want to put my lips and a little bit of teeth on it. Her blonde hair is gathered up in a high ponytail, and her cheeks are the soft pink of a conch shell. She keeps pulling the sweater up on her shoulder like she’s self-conscious, her clear blue eyes darting to my lips, and Jesus, it’s taking some fucking major resistance not to pull her into my arms and kiss that sexy mouth.
“Here,” I say quickly, handing her the small bouquet of flowers and bottle of Riesling. “I disobeyed you and brought something. Plural.”
Delaney takes them, smiling and shaking her head. “You didn’t need to do that. But thank you. You didn’t wear a coat?”
“Nope. Being a true Mainer, forty-five degrees in early April feels like a heat wave.”
“Agreed.”
“You’re looking very spring-like yourself. Nice pants.”
“They’re Lularoe leggings. Kind of all the rage right now.”
I follow her into the kitchen, glad of the chance to check out her perfect round ass. She gets a vase out of the cupboard for the flowers, fills it with water and sets it on the table. “I made coconut shrimp, and I just need to pop the nachos in the microwave. I hope you like them loaded.”
“Is there any other kind? It all looks great—thank you.”
“It’s no trouble at all—I love to cook, which is a good thing, seeing as I’m going to open up a place that serves food.” She smiles at me and shakes her head slowly. “Still find it hard to believe.”