by Avery Flynn
She nodded while she took a sip of coffee as if he could see her. “Of course.”
“She is coming to the wedding,” Carlo said, his voice warming while talking about his hilariously grouchy grandma. “Would you mind being with her during the ceremony to translate? Normally, my father or I would do it, but I’ve asked him to stand up with me during the ceremony as a…what’s the word? Best man?”
“I’d be happy to sit with your nonna.” The woman was hysterical, all whispered snide remarks in Italian helpfully muffled by the black lace handkerchief she often held up to her mouth.
“Fantastico!”
Despite Carlo’s enthusiasm, she couldn’t help but worry that he was thinking only with his head and ignoring his heart and his conscience. “Are you really sure you want to go through with this?”
He grunted in what had to be the Italian verbal equivalent of rolling his eyes. “Unlike a certain secret romantic I know, I’m not waiting for true love.”
“Are you calling me a romantic?” That was so not her. She was a Riverside woman through and through. She grew up knowing that happily ever afters were bullshit.
He laughed. “If the high heel fits.”
“Well this one most definitely does not.”
And it didn’t. Really.
Chapter Ten
The best thing Tyler could say about an unscheduled client hand-holding trip to Denver was the necessary space it gave him from Everly. Physical space, anyway. Mentally, she’d set up house in his head and was clomping around in her ridiculous shoes that showed off her sexy ass. His dick perked up at the image. Damn. He was beginning to worry about his sanity when it came to her.
Beginning?
Shut up, self.
What he needed to be doing was planning his next move with Ferranti. His secret sources had outlined the hotel locations Ferranti’s team was considering and they were wrong—not all of them but enough that what could be a billion in profits was going to shrink to millions. Not that Tyler could present it that way in a proposal. People tended to react badly to being told they were idiots, but it had to be done. He just needed to figure out the right angle to take. What better time to do that than tonight while he was in one of Ferranti’s future competitor’s properties? Tyler forced his attention to focus on the upscale hotel room he was in tonight.
It was nothing like the house he’d grown up in. Plush carpet. Thick curtains. Pillows fluffy enough to skydive into. And he fucking hated it. It wasn’t that it gave off the don’t-touch-anything vibe of expensive places, but that the only thing he wanted to touch was across the country probably wearing four-inch heels and giving someone tons of I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude. Or did she only do that with him? Probably. Which was exactly why he shouldn’t be relaxing back on the king-size bed with its million thread count (or some stupid high number) sheets in only his boxers and reaching for his phone.
Too bad he was doing that anyway.
TYLER: What u doing?
EVERLY: Who is this?
TYLER: Your fav amateur chef.
Yeah, the one who happened to be grinning like an asshole for the first time in two days since he left Harbor City. Oh, and his dick was waving hello, too. Thank God he was smart enough not to share that tidbit of insider information with her.
EVERLY: How did you get my number?
TYLER: It’s on your lease agreement, Sherlock.
EVERLY: So you hide out in your apartment and just text insults? Is this your new hobby? Your smoke alarm hasn’t gone off lately.
TYLER: I’m in Denver.
EVERLY: Vacay?
TYLER: Nervous client.
EVERLY: I take it you’re bored.
TYLER: Why?
EVERLY: You’re in Denver.
TYLER: I’ll have you know the mountains are beautiful.
They were and he was. Everything had unfolded as predictably as a five-cent plot with his client who was having second thoughts about an investment. A few conversations and a site visit had settled the man’s nerves. For a guy who always rubbed a particular someone the wrong way, he was damn good at calming others and getting them to focus on exactly what he wanted. No doubt a shrink would say it was a survival skill learned from his chaotic upbringing, but he wasn’t deep-diving into that—not when he had Ms. 3B in her favorite black nightie ready to sext it up. Okay, he had no idea what she was wearing and steamy hot texting wasn’t what they were doing, but his cock had a powerful imagination and a very hard need.
EVERLY: I’ll take your word about Denver. I like my nature hanging on the wall.
TYLER: Ha… Got the email from AF about the trip to the Keys. You still good with this?
The four of them for a long weekend on Ferranti’s private island in Florida. It would be sand, sun, and Everly-induced hard-ons that wouldn’t find relief. Well, at least for him when he wasn’t on the job trying to land the old man’s hotel account. He had to get some distance from her. It was too hard to think strategically around her when all his blood was draining from the big head to the little one and taking half his IQ points with it.
EVERLY: I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t mean it. I don’t do things half-assed.
Ass. She had to say ass.
TYLER: I believe it.
EVERLY: Have to head to bed. It’s 2 a.m. here.
Bed. God, he loved to picture her spread out on a bed, her long legs open for him. His cock twitched. Fuck. There was pre-come pooling on the head of his dick and leaving a spot on his boxers. All he wanted was— He shoved his fingers through his hair, pulling out a few in frustration. Keep it clean, Jacobson. She’s not for you.
TYLER: Night, sugar.
There was a pause while the typing bubble did its thing. Whatever message she was sending, it took more letters than N.I.G.H.T. Finally, her message popped up.
EVERLY: That’s it? No questions about what I’m wearing?
And just when he thought he couldn’t get any harder, he did—achingly so, because she’d surprised him again. His super-fine upstairs neighbor who told him to fuck off just as often as she kissed him and who came to his defense from Irena after giving him the stink eye herself had just thrown down a challenge. He read her text again as he gave his cock a hard squeeze and stroke, needing to relieve some of the pressure before he came in his boxers from one six-word question: No questions about what I’m wearing? He let go of his dick and typed.
TYLER: I already know.
A pause that gave him hope for a picture, but all that came through were words.
EVERLY: Oh yeah? What?
TYLER: Not a damn thing.
A little fantasy on his part or his gut feeling? Did it matter? Not to his dick. Another long pause with the typing bubble on his screen.
EVERLY: Night, T.
His lips kicked up into a grin at the answer. Ms. 3B wasn’t about to give it to him that easily; she never did.
TYLER: What, no confirmation?
He stared at his phone in one hand while shoving his boxers halfway down his thighs with the other and then wrapping it around the hardest part of him. There wasn’t a typing bubble. He gave it a minute and when the little blue bubble never appeared, he set his phone down on the nightstand.
He was right. He knew he was. He’d pictured her often enough. Nothing but long limbs, soft curves, and full lips. His hand moved up his shaft, rounded the head slick with pre-come and back down again. And in that moment it wasn’t his hand stroking him, it was hers. She wasn’t interested in drawing this out. She was kneeling on the bed next to him, watching her fingers speed up and down his cock. And she was talking filthy, telling him how much she wanted to see him shoot and that as soon as he did she was going to take that pink tongue of hers and lick it off his abs until his stomach was as wet as her pussy. And that was all it took. Fifteen strokes—twenty tops—and he was coming all over his stomach in hot bursts.
But unlike the fantasy, there was no Everly here to clean him up. And if she were? There was
no way he’d have ever gotten to the point of coming without burying himself between her thighs and feeling her squeeze him tight as she came all over him. And this was why he needed to stop thinking about her like this. She was his annoying and argumentative neighbor who happened to be his in with Ferranti, that was all. The sooner he could land the hotel magnate as a client, the sooner he and Everly could go back to their regularly scheduled war of stomping shoes and burning food, so he could focus on his next scheme instead of her.
She was messing with his orderly world, and they both knew a relationship could go nowhere. He was looking for old-money class when he finally settled down, and she wanted… Well, he actually had no idea what she wanted. He refused to acknowledge the burning in his chest at the thought that it was someone from a better upbringing than he’d had. Touché, Ms. Ribinski.
…
Everly woke up the next morning with hard nipples, a slickness between her legs, and the memory of a dream that had brought her right to the edge of coming before her alarm went off. She’d been sitting on the edge of Tyler’s kitchen island with him in front of her, his strong fingers pressing against her inner thighs, holding her legs open as he licked and sucked her clit. Sure, it had been a dream, but he’d been so good that her body ached for relief. Refusing to open her eyes and acknowledge the day, she dipped her fingers between her legs and nearly arched off the bed when she brushed her clit. Circling the sensitive nub, she pulled back every wispy thread of the dream. The way the muscles in Tyler’s shoulders undulated as he worked one finger and then two into her, rubbing against the bundle of nerves inside her entrance. In her bed, with the morning light trying to push its way through her eyelids, she followed Dream Tyler’s lead as she heard his dirty whispers from the dream.
“Open those legs wider, I want to watch you take my fingers.”
She did, letting them fall open under the covers, the top of her hand brushing against the sheet.
“So soft and wet.”
And she was—so much so that her fingers slipped around, adding to the fantasy that it wasn’t her touch, but his, as she rubbed her clit faster and harder.
“Come for me, sugar. Squeeze me.”
And just like in the dream, she did with a hoarse cry, arching her back as the orgasm pulled her body tight.
It took a minute to come down, and when she did, the wrongs of the situation hit her. Tyler was the last man she should be thinking about when she touched herself. The man was an arrogant pain in her ass. The only reason she’d even had that dream was in response to the unexpected texting last night. What had ever possessed her to make a comment to him about what she’d been wearing? Obviously, the dream had just been working out her surprise when he’d said, “Nothing at all,” like a cocky jerk. The fact that he’d been right had nothing to do with it. There was no way for him to know that. That he did had just burrowed its way into her subconscious. It wasn’t that she wanted him.
Okay, she wanted him. But she couldn’t have him. He owned her building and held her gallery’s financial future in his hands. When things went sideways—not if but when, because guys like him who were obsessed with climbing the Harbor City society ladder always would with someone like her—she couldn’t afford to be at all-out war with her landlord. Nunni was depending on her, even if she didn’t realize it and thought Everly was her mother most times she went to visit.
And that sad bit of life was enough to kill off any remnants of her post-orgasmic buzz. Refusing to wallow in the unfairness of what had happened to the vivacious and determined woman who’d raised her after her mom died, Everly threw the covers to the side and got out of bed. The gallery was closed on Wednesdays, which meant catching up on paperwork during the day and, after five, going out to visit Nunni and play bingo in her honor with the cutthroat gang of octogenarians who’d followed Nunni to the best assisted living center in the neighborhood. who’d been a part of Everly’s life for as long as she could remember.
Eight hours later, her head was still buried in the paperwork that was spread out over her coffee table and on the couch beside her, because she couldn’t stand another moment locked in her office, when the message notification flashed across the top of her screen.
KIKI: So what’s with u and the hottie in 2B?
She shook her head. The fact that her bestie had managed to make it days without interrogating her about Tyler had been a world record.
EVERLY: Nothing.
KIKI: Oh, I totally believe that.
Of course she didn’t. Just like Everly didn’t believe—no matter how many times her bestie denied it—that Kiki’s divorce from her cheating asswipe of a husband hadn’t left her totally suspicious of the entire male population and questioning her own appeal. They’d been friends for too long to pretend about stuff like that—but they also didn’t press each other on the sensitive spots any more than absolutely necessary. Being supportive didn’t always mean calling someone on her shit.
EVERLY: May you be cursed with an annoying neighbor.
KIKI: Don’t you put that evil on me, Ricky Bobby!
She laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls in her empty apartment. When was the last time she’d seen that movie? It was her favorite and it had been too long.
EVERLY: We need girls’ movie night soon.
KIKI: Beers and Will Ferrell? I’m in.
EVERLY: You have the weirdest taste in men.
KIKI: I like ’em big and furry.
EVERLY: Dork.
KIKI: Wanna do it tonight?
EVERLY: Can’t, it’s bingo night.
She glanced at the digital clock display on her laptop. Shit. She needed to get moving. Hudson and Felicia were meeting her at the assisted living center tonight. Hudson was working on a new series of paintings of side-by-side portraits of people in their early twenties based on photos and in their eighties based on in-person sittings. When he’d told her about the idea, she’d introduced him to her nunni’s bingo buddies, who ended up adopting him and by extension Felicia. Now Hudson and Felicia were regulars at bingo night, and Nunni’s buddies were all planning to attend Hudson’s show at her gallery in the spring.
KIKI: Say hi to Nunni for me.
If only her nunni had gotten to find out that Hudson—who had come home from college some weekends with Everly and inhaled an entire tray of cannoli—was actually the world-famous painter Hughston, she would have been thrilled. As it was, most days she still thought Everly was a toddler and new information didn’t take hold in her mind. Dementia fucking sucked.
EVERLY: Will do.
KIKI: xoxo
EVERLY: *mwah*
She logged off and gathered up the stack of bills that were nearly due, sales slips, and bank statements. Promising herself that she’d finish up tomorrow, she stuffed everything back in its respective manila envelopes and laid them on top of her kitchen counter. Then, she grabbed the bakery fresh coconut cream pie—its box still wrapped up in a pretty blue ribbon—her keys, and her purse before heading out the door.
Fiddling with her phone in one hand while she held the pie in the other, she’d made it three steps before a flash of something in front of her forced her gaze up from her cell. Then she almost dropped everything.
Tyler stood in the middle of her hall in broken-in jeans that looked like they’d been made to hug his impressive thighs and a lightweight gray sweater that brought out the silver in his blue eyes. The look on his face as he watched her was as hungry as it had been in her dream followed by her solo sexting fantasy. Fuck. This was not what she needed.
Maybe, but you can’t deny he’s exactly what you want.
Straightening her shoulders, she shoved that super-annoying voice of self-awareness way back into the basement of her brain and added a little extra attitude to her strut.
“I didn’t smell anythin’ burnin’,” she said, adding some extra Riverside to her words. “So I figured ya were still in Denver.”
Chapter Eleven
If it
hadn’t been for that quick intake of breath followed by an appreciative slow perusal of him from head to toe as they both stood in the hall outside her apartment door, Tyler just might have believed Everly wasn’t totally happy to see him. It was almost enough to hurt a normal man’s ego. Good thing his was supercharged. What else had a little extra oomph today? His dick after seeing her for the first time in days—especially since she was in black heels, form-fitting jeans, and a long pink sweater that managed to cover her from shoulders to ass and yet highlight every single dip and swell of her body underneath.
“You’re in pink,” he said, proving once and for all that his IQ left the building whenever Everly Ribinski came within touching distance.
She shrugged, sending one side of the sweater’s scoop neck sliding down her arm and revealing her shoulder. It shouldn’t turn him on. It did.
“It’s my nunni’s favorite color.”
He forced himself to look away from the woman and instead focus on what she was carrying. “You bringing her pie?”
She flinched just the slightest bit but more than enough for him to notice. “The coconut cream is for her bingo buddies; she’s not so into pie right now.”
Whatever he’d said wrong, it had taken some of the punch out of her body language and the piss and vinegar out of her tone. He didn’t like it. It didn’t seem right that something could suck the personality out of Everly like that. He closed the distance between them in three strides, for once not with the goal of touching her but needing to comfort her.
Shit. He was screwed. So fucking screwed.
He stopped just out of arm’s reach because this was new territory for him, and if there was a chance that curling his arms around her would make the moisture in her dark eyes spill over, he knew she’d never forgive him. “Is everything okay?”
Everly’s chin trembled for a second before she inhaled a deep breath in through her nose and closed her eyes. When she opened them a moment later, there was resignation, stubbornness, and more than a little sadness reflected there. “She has dementia, and I go to visit her every week and then play bingo with the eighty-and-older set.”