by Dakota Gray
“Is that what they call living in PJs now? Don't you have work?”
Annoyed, I throw back, “I'm back up to four days a week at work.”
“You know why? Because nine months is long enough. You can't hit pause on your life. Even when you have damn good reasons.” She tips the bottom of the bottle so I can take in more wine.
I break the hold and wine dribbles onto Spongebob's stupid happy face. She has a key to my place and I have one to hers. At one point check-ins were needed. Some days they were necessary. “You're not here to comfort me.”
“I'm the swift kick to your ass. You did it for me, and now it's my turn.”
Samantha and I met in a grief support group seven months ago. My doctor recommended the outing to me after noting “a drastic change in my overall demeanor.” He told me I had to do more than work and go home. He also wrote a note suggesting I cut my hours until I got steadier on my feet, because apparently a deep depression is not helped by a high-pressured job. I didn't take him up on the latter until a month before I met Nate.
To put this into perspective: my doctor is usually a straight to the point asshole. Bedside manner are two words that mean nothing. That's how bad off I was for a while, but I was there for Loraine's last moments. I had to stand by as she slipped away from the world. Then I learned about the morphine overdose. I swallowed every emotion down and soldiered on until I broke.
The break was bad enough my asshole of a doctor noticed, and my shark of a boss agreed I should take it easy at work. My life for the last nine months have been shaky at best. From the determined expression on Samantha face, she wants me to bounce back.
She wants me to be the Robyn who would exact revenge.
I shake my head. I don't know if I can be that Robyn anymore. Or ever again.
“For three years Loraine and I were attached at the hip. Almost a year has gone by, and sometimes I still pick up my phone, dying to tell her something and then I remember. Her death hits me all over again.”
“I know. I know,” she says but curls her lips as though to keep any other opinion to herself.
And I know she wants to mention Nate. I shake my head harder the second time.
“She wasn't a parent, a childhood friend I knew all my life or a favorite aunt. She was the family I chose.” My voice cracks. “Some days that cuts bone deep.”
Samantha sighs. “I know. All too well.”
Since she did, I press my face into the pillow. Stupid tears. Not a one will bring her back. Samantha's warm hand rests on my back. She gives me time to pull myself together.
I miss Loraine. I miss her so much it hurts. The problem is I now miss Nate too. I've told myself for a month I'll get over him. Then I saw him and I couldn't not touch him.
“I think I've finally lost my mind from grief,” I say into the pillow. “I fell for him, knowing what he is, what he did—I fell for him.”
I put myself in his path for a little revenge and he worked his voodoo on me. Revenge turned to lust. Lust to the reason why I was on day two of sitting in bed, drinking wine when it wasn't even noon yet.
Samantha considers me for a second. “Crazy isn't the word I'd use.”
“Stupid? Disloyal? Thinking with my lower bits. Naive.”
“In love.” She pauses. “So, yeah, maybe a little stupid, but that's a byproduct of the emotion.”
I laugh at the unexpected answer. “He's a mistake. I know this. What would Loraine think?”
“She'd laugh her ass off, and say I told you so. He's lethal, and if you get caught up, you're going to go for one hell of a ride.”
That's not what she'd said in her last moments. Yeah. Every time before that she'd admit being with Nate was thrilling and fun. She was young and naive.
But when the memories counted the most, Loraine had said she'd wasted precious time out of her life on Nate, and here I was tempted to do the same. And why? Every inch of me buzzed to life when I'm near him. He was fun, funny, and an unrepentant sexual deviant.
Okay. Those were good things. Not making my point.
“How can I put aside that he hurt women? Lots of them. Doesn't matter if it was his intent or not. Doesn't matter if he gave fair warning. My friend, my best friend was one of them. What a way—”
“Who is this Loraine you're remembering? This holier-than-thou memory you've made of her? The stories you've told me about her... Are you sure you're talking about your friend, your real friend here?”
“Loraine—”
“The woman you told me about, and trust me I've listened to hours of you talking about her, she'd be...She's probably now officially the patron saint of fuckboys.”
It was both so ridiculous...and true, I can't hold in the snort.
Samantha adds in a kind, understanding tone, “Remember the real Loraine. Not the saint you've turned her into. She was real, flawed, awesome and you loved her. Remember that woman.”
I close my eyes and try to recall the woman I'd met years ago. The woman I spent countless hours gossiping with. The one who asked a million questions about the BDSM lifestyle, buttplugs, and other toys. The one who encouraged me to date and date widely until I found the right one. And sometimes told me to just fuck the Right Now man.
Remember her and not the woman I watched die, delirious on meds, still in so much pain, and so angry about her life ending much too soon. Angry at everyone who got to live and was wasting it.
I murmur, “Loraine would have handed me a box of condoms and waited around for details with wine and a good meal.”
Samantha says, “The Loraine you told me about would have never stopped laughing that you got trapped by him.”
“She would have pissed herself, because I never believed her. I always thought she was exaggerating.”
My friend leans forward and holds my gaze. “But then she'd see your face and know whatever is going on is real. If it turned to shit, she'd kneecap him, but she'd encourage you to buck the rules and live every moment to its fullest.”
Loraine would. She wouldn't have let me waste a month of time. She would have been on my ass day one.
It's hard to breathe as my lungs constrict and tears pool in my eyes. “I saw him two days ago. He...I think it's real for him too.”
“Then why are you in your PJs crying?”
She takes the wine and peels the covers off me. “Put on an I'm-sorry-please-have-make-up-sex-with-me dress. Do that sexy curl thing with your hair. Make him beg a little, because he's still a fuckboy deep down. And please, please shower.”
I turn my head into my armpit to get a whiff of myself. “I'm not that bad.”
“Not that bad. You just said that.” Samantha cups my face and leans in again. “Be Robyn. What would Robyn do if she realized how much she loved someone? When Robyn knows what it means to lose someone much too soon?”
I close my eyes. “It's not going to be easy.”
“Nothing worth having is. Now go. I'm going to finish this bottle of wine. If you come home before tomorrow...Hell, this is the Nathan Ellis. If you come home before a week has passed...”
I open my eyes. “Thank you. I appreciate you giving me a swift kick.”
“Now don't waste another moment. Make mistakes, make love, be happy. He makes you happy.”
He does. “I'm going to go be happy.”
~CHAPTER SIXTEEN~
My doorbell is ringing like crazy, and I'm going to have to headbutt whoever it is. Likely Tarek. We're headed down to the coast for some event at the gym. I know it's not the mailman. I just handed him at least six packages to ship.
Worse, I'm trying to concentrate on my mother's voice. Her Southern twang has gone from pleasant to God-is-my-witness. “Then she had the nerve to tell me—”
“Mom, hold on. Someone's at my door.”
“Is it one of your little girlfriends?”
“I don't have a girlfriend.”
I want one, which would probably make my mother catch a flight post haste to meet the woman i
n person. It might also mean it's the end of the world. It's been two days since the event Duke dragged me to. Two days since I've seen her, touched her. I know she's doing fine. Duke likes to text me almost hourly updates. He was giddy to tell me she went on a lunch date the day before. Or maybe he hoped by telling me that lie—it has to be one—I'd quit my self-imposed celibacy. She's moving on. So should you.
But he doesn't understand Robyn's taste is still in my mouth, and I don't want her gone.
“Hold on,” I yell at the door.
“Is that what you do now? Yell at company?”
Prickly woman and I love her. “Mom, it's a California thing.”
“Like shoes without socks?”
I laugh. “Exactly.”
“Well, who is it? If it's Tarek, tell him I remember. I owe him a pie.”
“I'll tell him, but you know he plans to marry you one day. And it's only for your cooking. Don't fall for it, Mom.” Her chuckle is ringing in my ear as I open the door without checking.
I almost drop my phone. “Robyn.”
“Is that your girlfriend's name, Nathaniel?”
Yes. Nathaniel is my full legal name and guess who is the only person on God's earth who uses it?
That's not the point. I love my mama but she's loud. Robyn's lips turn up. “You're telling your mother I'm your girlfriend? Don't you think that's a bit presumptuous since we haven't talked in two days? You didn't even know if I was coming back to you.”
She's here, for me, and she's giving me shit. My hand is on her dress and I'm pulling her into me, into my mouth before any more words can be spoken. She wouldn't be here to say hi. If I'm wrong—I can't be wrong.
My mother's voice is a buzz. If it was anyone else I would hang up. I need two hands to hold onto Robyn. I use the one I have to cup the back of her head and lick inside her mouth. Her moan pounds into me. I take a few steps back to drag her inside the house.
She pulls away, laughing. I grab her dress again.
She smiles as she says, “You're on the phone with your mom. I can wait.”
My head is buzzing, and I refuse to let her dress go. I press my knuckles into her stomach to reassure myself she's real and right there. “How'd you know it's my mom?”
“The woman called you Nathaniel. Only a mama would call you by your legal name.” She brings the phone back up to my ear. “Finish talking to her.”
I drop my hand back down to my side. “Are you staying?”
She hits me with the crinkle-eye smile. I put my forehead against hers. “Want to be the first woman since I was...I can't even remember.”
“You're not helping your case here.”
I smile. “Want to be the first woman I introduce to my mother?”
“That helps.” She pauses and gazes at me for a second. “You're serious.”
I press the speaker button. “Ma, you there?”
“Yes.”
Robyn's waving at me frantically.
I say, “Hold on” then I press my mouth to Robyn's ear and whisper, “I want you to meet my mom, but if you're not ready...We need to iron things out between us, I know.”
She whispers back, “I want to meet your mom, Nate.”
Softly, and with all the care I have, I press my mouth to her forehead. “Ready?”
At her nod, I say, “Ma, I want you to meet Robyn Hayes.”
She looks at me with wide doe-eyes. “Hi. It's very nice to meet you, ma'am.”
My mother gasps. “Manners? When is the wedding?”
Jesus. “Ma, I gotta go.”
“No,” my mom says, probably with her laptop open to book a flight. “Wait. Who are her people?”
“I love you, Ma. Bye.”
Robyn's laughing at the whole exchange. “I see where you get it from.”
“What?”
“The forceful charm.”
I stuff my phone in my pocket. I have two hands now. I cup her face and make her meet my gaze. The shadows are there. They might always be there, but I know I can put joy on her face. I don't know what happened to get her standing here, but I only need her to know one thing.
“I love you.”
Her breath hitches. “You don't have to—”
I bite her lip. She moans. I release the plump flesh. “I love you.”
“Duke told me you haven't had sex for two months. Are you sure you're not just—”
I bite her harder, and she's back to laughing. I love the sound of it, the way her happiness somehow fills me too. “Let's try this one more time, Robyn, and see if you can behave.” I rest my forehead on hers. “I love you. I want to wake up with you in my bed. I want to wrap my arms around you at night when I go to sleep. I want you for as long as you can stand me.”
Her eyes darken and gleam from unshed tears. “You mean it.”
“Every word.” Wait. “When did you talk to Duke?”
“He's been sending me text messages for the past two days.”
“Meddling motherfucker.” And, God, I love my friend.
She snorts. “As he said, you were making his life a living hell so he was going to return the favor until I put you out of his misery.”
“And what did you say?”
“I was documenting the harassment for the day I need a favor for a case.”
She one-upped Duke. I love this woman.
She trails her thumb over my jaw and then drops her hands to my wrists. “Did you really go two months without—”
“Thirty-seven days.”
She closes her hands on my wrists then chuckles. “How are you standing upright?”
That right there is why I love her. “I concentrated on today. Today would be the day you came back. You'd somehow find a way to forgive me for being thoughtless. So goddamn selfish. I'd be a better man, and we'd put the past behind us and start today.”
Her lip trembles as she nods. “I like that.” She sniffs and backs up a couple of steps and smiles. Her smile. The one that makes my dick hard. Jesus. She's going to kill me.
She says, “I think we need to start over. Clean slate.”
I'm up for it... “Call me Nate.”
“Robyn. Call me Sugar in that Southern accent of yours and I'll flick you in the forehead.”
I laugh. “Naw. I'm done with that.”
She puts her hands behind her back and struts to me. Her walk is fluid, sexy as shit, and I had nothing to do with it. It's better that way. I may be in love, but I am still a goddamn pervert.
She says, “I love you.” Another step, and I'm breathless because she loves me. “I know. Shocking. We just met...”
“Robyn.”
There's no poker face. She has to inhale, exhale before she can talk. “I think I loved you the first time you said my name. Say it again.”
“Robyn.”
She's standing in front of me. “Is there anything you need to warn me about?”
I draw my mouth down her cheek then whisper in her ear, “I'm a pervert.”
She lifts her head up. Tongue. Lip. “What's your kink?”
“Love eating pussy.”
She walks by me and throws a coy look over her shoulder. “You should know, I'm not wearing panties. I rarely do.”
She's not normal. She's made for me, but... “And Loraine?”
She stops and the smile dips. “She'd get a kick out of the fact you fell for me. That...because of her, I found someone who makes me happy. Someone who taught me how to live after I forgot how. That...” Robyn swallows. “She would love.”
I'm going to do right by Robyn. It's my quiet promise to Loraine, and I keep my word.
The smile blooms again and she starts to stroll down the hall, facing me. “Now...I hear all you need is ten minutes.”
I shake my head and follow the invisible hold she has on me. “I can, but I think I do my best work in a lifetime.”
Her eyes widen for a moment at the subtle proposal. “Yeah?”
My heart skips. “Is that a yes?”
; She purses her lips and tips her head back. “You didn't ask me a question.”
Prickly as shit. I love it. “You're right. We should talk safewords first. I have had thirty-seven days to think about this moment. When I ask you the question, I really want you to scream your answer. Otherwise, I won't believe it.”
She laughs. “A safeword, then? Hmmm.” She looks me up and down then grins. “Golf tips.”
I'm wearing one of my preppy Polo shirts. She's such a fucking smart ass, but...that's why I love Robyn.
I jump her. Right there in the hallway.
Our wedding is going to be beautiful.
BIO
Dakota Gray is the author of the Filth series. She’s a longtime romance reader and she’s not ashamed to fangirl over heroes with dirty mouths, dirtier minds and a soft heart.
Gray writes the heroes you shouldn’t take home to mom, sassy heroines and sigh-worthy happily ever afters.
You can like her FACEBOOK or follow her on TWITTER.
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NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I started writing in 2004 and that's how long it took me to write this book—kind of. First, I had to write the semi-autobiographical stories as most newbie writers do. Then I had to write stories that followed all the rules. Then write stories told in my voice, but were still very, very mainstream and respectable. Write books of my heart. Then write books of my heart that someone other than myself wanted to read.
So it took me a short eon to get to a place where I didn't want to write a hero that was heroic—at all. To want to write a story that hinged on that hero being a complete and utter filth monster. Then to write those filth scenes and to not give a single fuck as I wrote it all.
We won't even get into writing past third POV to first present POV.
But...again, it took me years to get to Nate and Robyn. It was worth every rejection, sleepless night, writing and re-writing, triumphs and failures.
I didn't get here alone. My tribe carried me.
Now, sure, when I told writerly friends a year ago that I was going to write a hero who had a pussy-eating fetish...there were many, many concerns. (In their defense I kept calling the book Sugar Walls.)