Favors, Strings, & Lies_Men of NatEx_A Package Handlers Novel

by Kyle Autumn

  “Hey,” I say, giving him a shy grin. Looking down at his chest, I open my mouth to speak, but the words get caught in my throat.

  Before I can try again, he kisses me. Right on the lips. It’s a sweet, gentle kiss. The kind you’d give a spouse you still can’t get enough of after twenty years. The kind that melts my rapidly beating heart into liquid.

  “You stole my move,” I say cheekily.

  His dimples come out to play. Then he readjusts his head on his pillow. “Yeah, well, I felt like doing it.” He winks at me for good measure.

  “Speaking of things we feel like doing…” I trail off, bringing my hand up to his chest and laying my palm flat.

  His mistakes my meaning and hooks his hand around my leg, pulling it over his waist. “Oh yeah?”

  I let out a laugh, but I use that palm on his chest to push him slightly away. “No,” I say on a short giggle. “Not like that.”

  He buries his face against my neck, his lips peppering kisses on my sensitive skin. “Then what’s it like?”

  “Well,” I start, still not sure how to word it. “I was thinking.” Which is a total cop-out. This is a given.

  “I thought I could hear the wheels in your head turning,” he says, pulling back to look at me. “What’s going on?”

  Sooner than I can start my confession, his phone buzzes on his bedside table. He apologizes as he turns onto his back to reach for it. When he checks the screen, his happy, carefree demeanor vanishes. Without touching him, I can feel how solid and still his body has gone. And I can tell how much whatever’s on his phone has upset him by the power he uses to drop the phone back to the table.

  Over his shoulder, the only thing I was able to make out was “Joyce” at the top of the screen. I wasn’t trying to pry, but it was in my line of vision. Obviously, I was curious, but it isn’t my business who’s texting him on a Saturday morning. Or any morning. Or night. We’re just for show. And sex sometimes, apparently.

  That reminder is all I need not to say what I was going to say.

  “Sorry,” he says, rolling back toward me. “I thought it was on silent.”

  “That’s okay. If you need to take that…” I peek over his shoulder to indicate his phone.

  “Nah.” He snuggles back into his pillow and we resume our previous position. “It can wait. You were saying something.”

  I give him a halfhearted shrug, shutting down and chickening out. “Oh, it was nothing. No big deal.”

  He lowers his eyebrows and narrows his eyes. “You sure? Because you can always tell me that you want me to wear turquoise to the wedding. You want it, you got it.” His dimples flash again, making me a little weak in the knees.

  Thank goodness we’re already lying down.

  “How’d you know?” I ask, feigning shock and surprise. “You said you can’t, but you definitely can read my mind.” My heart twists as I pretend with him, but it’s okay. I’m used to pretending with him, aren’t I?

  “Hmm.” His eyes stay narrow as he thinks. “Right now, you’re thinking about”—he brings his lips to my neck and kisses me—“all the places I could”—he brushes his nose against my cleavage—“lick you, aren’t you?” He finishes by looking me right in the eyes, his head dipped a little.

  “Well, I wasn’t before,” I tell him, smirking at him, “but I am now.”

  As though gladly, he ducks under the sheet and shimmies down my body. When he’s settled at the apex of my thighs, he parts my legs and dips his tongue into my folds. And the sweet distraction of pleasure takes me over. No need to think so hard. No need to contemplate the future. No need to worry that other women are texting him—and maybe warming his bed when I’m not in it.

  Nah. I’ll just stay in the now.

  Apparently, it’s not time to say something. And that’s okay. Living the lie will get easier the longer I do it.

  I hope, anyway.

  ∞∞∞

  Matt

  She’s not telling me something. She’s playing it off well, but I can see right through it. I won’t force her to tell me though. Probably because I have an idea of what it is and I don’t want to go there right now. We made an agreement, and I’ll honor it. And that text message from Joyce, reminding me about our coffee date, had me clamming up anyway.

  Though I won’t say I haven’t given it—us—some thought. Now that Joyce and I have talked and she apologized, I feel like I have a missing part back. A part of me I need in order to be in a relationship with someone else. But I’m still not ready. Because I’ll probably end up hurting Cadence if we commit to something more and I’m not fully up to the task. It’s been years since I’ve been in a relationship, so I’m beyond rusty.

  Plus, let’s be honest. She’s the one who came up with his impersonal no-strings rule. The last thing I need to do is fall for a woman who really doesn’t want a relationship.

  And she’s been tight-lipped about her past too. Clearly, something happened to her. Something that left her in pieces she’s trying to mend as well. So neither of us is ready for that next step. Not until we come clean.

  I’ll admit that something’s been bothering me. Ever since I talked with Aidan about her not knowing my name, I’ve wanted to tell her. She hasn’t asked, and she’s never said it, so I’m sure she doesn’t know. She definitely knows I’m not Brian, but that’s it.

  Another thing that’s bothering me is that we rely on her ordering things on the internet to see each other. If whatever we’re doing has a chance to become something more—and I’m not saying either of us want to or are ready for that—then we need a phone number exchange at the very least.

  Now, I just have to get ahold of her. Seeing as I still don’t have her number, that might be hard. I can stop by her house, but she’s a busy woman. She’s almost always in running gear when I see her, but a lot of the time when I drop packages off, she’s not home. Work, I assume. It takes time and lots of effort to be the successful real estate agent she is.

  While out for deliveries on Monday, I’m reminded of what she does for a living when I spot a sign with her face on it. It reads Open House Today! Which means she’s there. So perhaps it won’t be so hard to get ahold of her.

  Leaving my truck out front, I walk up to the door and then knock. She opens it, fresh-faced and smiling widely. The sun glints off her white teeth, and her pink skirt suit complements her curves in a mostly-business way. Even though I prefer her more natural, there’s something to be said about a woman in clothes that fit the powerful role. It suits her too, and I’m rather taken aback by how much I appreciate her in her work environment.

  Her expression turns from all pleasant business to something full of shock before the previous professional grin turns into a sexier smirk meant for me. “Oh hey,” she says, putting a hand on her hip. “You in the market?”

  Depends on what the market is, I think. But, sooner than I can comment—or mentally slap myself out of that shit—she keeps speaking.

  “I’ve seen your place. You could get a lot of money for it.” She folds her arms over her chest and leans against the doorway.

  “Ahh, no,” I tell her before dipping my head down. “Just saw your sign”—I jut my thumb over my shoulder—“and wanted to stop by.”

  Her face lights up for a split second. She’s quick to school it back to something less fueled with emotion. Something more professional. Then she says, “Well, that was nice of you. What can I do for you?”

  “Oh, I seem to remember lots of things you can do for me,” I say it before thinking better of it, and I punctuate it with a wink. Hopefully those dimples all the ladies love do some magic.

  They must, because her cheeks turn a light shade of pink and she licks her lips.

  “But,” I add, getting down to business, “I’m here to ask a favor of you, seeing as I think you owe me one.”

  “Oh, I do, do I?” Her smirk is so sexy. “I seem to remember trying to return a favor and someone not letting me finish.”

&n
bsp; My gaze falls on her perfect, pink mouth. God, it felt incredible wrapped around my cock. So I tell her, “Well, you’re more than welcome to finish that favor some other time, but I think dinner at your mom’s house earned me this one.”

  Slowly, she blinks at me, that smirk never leaving her lips. “Okay, then,” she says after a few moments. She adjusts her stance. “Lay it on me.”

  Her familiar words sink in, and hope finds its way into my own when I say, “It’s small. And relatively harmless. I promise.”

  She raises one eyebrow as if to say, Get on with it.

  “All I’m asking for is your phone number.” I give her my best cheesy, hopeful, pretty-please smile.

  Her shoulders fall a little. Relief? Disappointment? I’m not sure.

  “I already told you to wear whatever tux you have,” she says, brushing her bangs to the side of her forehead.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s not for that,” I clarify.

  “Then what’s it for?” she probes, popping her hip out and putting her hand on it. “We’re quickly running out of nights to spend together, seeing as the wedding is this week now. So why would you need my number?”

  Her reaction was unexpected. After this weekend and what she was saying in my bed, I thought she’d be on board with this. That maybe I needed to make the first move. So the words get stuck in my throat. As much as I want to give her a small confession about hoping we can still see each other when this charade is over, I can’t seem to do it. She’s cold again, all business about this situation. This agreement.

  So I put my hands up in surrender instead and say, “Never mind.” To cover my tracks, I tell her, “I guess late-night booty calls aren’t your thing. Got it.” Then I wink for good measure.

  Her throat works and bobs as she swallows. “Then that’s settled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work,” she says, pointing inside the house. Then she looks at the watch on her wrist. “I have a scheduled appointment in ten minutes.”

  “Yeah,” I say, backing up from the door—and her. “I should get back to work too.” I point a finger toward my truck. “Lots of packages to deliver and all that.” Inwardly, I berate myself for being so fucking lame.

  “Okay, then. Saturday. See you at three thirty.”

  Before I can answer, though, she shuts the door. Slams it, almost. I stare after it, wondering why she felt she needed to do that. Stress from the wedding and her job? Anger because I dared to ask to talk to her on the phone? What the fuck.

  Well, that answers that, I guess. So, as I walk back to my truck, I pull my phone out to text someone who does want me to talk to them on the phone. Actually, she wants to see me in person, and I intend to make that happen.

  Me: Coffee. The Steam Room. Wednesday. 8am okay?

  I barely have time to set my phone in the cup holder before it buzzes with a reply.

  Joyce: Absolutely. See you then.

  Chapter 13

  Matt

  Surprise. That’s what I feel when I see Cadence’s name on my delivery manifest the next day. Why didn’t she tell me that she had a package coming when I saw her? Instead of telling me that she’d already told me what to wear to the wedding, she could have said that I’d see her today when I dropped her package off. But she didn’t.

  Which leads me to believe that maybe she ordered whatever it is after I left her at her open house. She must have asked for overnight delivery. And even requested the latest drop-off time we provide. So I’m going to make sure I show up late. Late enough that she won’t mind going to bed when I get there.

  But not with the package. I think about handing it off to Aidan, but the last thing I need is for him to show up at her house and spill the beans about my grandpa. So I give it to one of the rookies before heading out in my truck for the day. Then I go about my work, delivering packages to my regulars and not giving her a second thought.

  So what if that’s a big, fat fucking lie?

  My grandpa calls me on it the second I enter his room after work though. “Matty, somethin’s eatin’ at ya. What’s goin’ on, son?”

  “Can’t keep anything from you, can I?” I tell him as I pull a chair up next to his bed.

  “Nope.” He turns his TV off and holds his hand out for mine. “So spill.” Then he winks at me.

  Sometimes I don’t know if he remembers that he’s in his eighties, but that’s okay. Whatever keeps him young. And here with me.

  I take his hand. “Well,” I start, wondering if I should come clean, tell him the truth, and get real advice. But I don’t want to crush him, so I tell him a different kind of truth. “I think Cadence and I are fighting.”

  “’Bout what?” He focuses his gaze on me through his glasses.

  “You know, I’m not exactly sure.” I look at the ground while I think this through. “I think she wanted to tell me something the other morning, and then I wanted to ask her something yesterday. We haven’t been on the same page lately, I guess.” I shrug one shoulder so I don’t disturb his arm with the movement.

  “So get on the same page,” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

  I expect him to say something else, to add on to that ridiculous thought. Maybe to tell me how to get on the same page with her. But he doesn’t. So we’re left staring at each other. He’s looking at me like I’m an idiot, and I’m wondering if he’s still lucid and with me.

  Finally, I break the thick silence. “And,” I start, stretching the word out, “how do I do that, exactly?”

  “You just ask her whatever you wanted to ask her.” Again, his tone implies that this should have been common knowledge.

  “Grandpa, it’s not as easy as that,” I try to tell him.

  But he won’t hear it. “Of course it is, son. You open your mouth and words come out. You’re doing it with me. It’s not that hard.”

  I jerk my head back, shocked that he’s being so blunt. I shouldn’t be, but this is rare form for him.

  “Or,” he says, “I have another idea.”

  Finally. Another idea would be helpful, seeing as his last one was total shit. But he doesn’t come right out with it. Instead, we stare at each other again. Same as last time.

  Sighing, I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “You’re making me work for it today, aren’t you?”

  “Anything worth having is worth working for,” he tells me, wagging a finger at me.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Smiling, I wave him off. “You tell me that all the time. But what should I do right now? With Cadence?”

  “Like I was saying,” he says before coughing into his hand. He wipes he hand on his shirt, and I hope the lighting is playing tricks on me when the spot left behind looks darker than it should. “My other idea is that you could bring her here. I could mediate while you figure it out. Like a referee in a boxing match.” He winks at me like he’s being clever.

  But it gets me to laugh. Because the idea of bringing her here to meet him keeps coming up, and each time, it sounds more and more ridiculous.

  And more and more like something I want to do. I want to introduce Cadence to my family. I’ve met hers, so it’s only fair. Except that there’s nothing fair about any of this anymore. I can’t bring her here. That’s too personal for two people with no strings.

  No strings. No commitment. No chance to get hurt.

  That’s our motto.

  “That’s not a great idea yet,” I reason on an exhale. “I’m still not sure if we’re ever going to be serious, and I don’t want to introduce you if it’s not going to last with her.”

  That’s what I’ve told him several times over the course of the last year. Every time he’s asked about meeting her. And, every time, he’s waved me off like I would figure it out sooner or later. Apparently, I haven’t. Because he calls me on it this time.

  “Bullshit,” he says, looking me square in the eyes.

  I blink rapidly at him, frozen in my seat. “I’m sorry. What? Did you just say—” />
  “Bullshit,” he repeats. “I said bullshit. You’re speaking bullshit.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Got it now?”

  I’m still blinking like the idiot he really has been thinking I am this whole thing. “Why?” is all I can utter.

  “You clearly love her, son.” He tries to sit up more in his bed. “It’s been written all over your damn face all week. You fall fast. You always have. So quit lying to yourself.”

  I gulp. Because what the hell?

  “Look, you don’t have to admit it to me,” he continues, no nonsense in his tone. “And you don’t have to tell her right now. But you should probably tell yourself. And then ask her whatever the hell you wanted to ask her. I’m sure she’ll tell you what she wanted to tell you too.”

  “But you’ve never met her, Grandpa,” I remind him. “You can’t know that for sure.”

  “And whose fault is that?” He gives me a sly smile. “Who’s been asking to meet her for a long time? Huh?”

  I lean an elbow on the armrest and prop my chin in my hand. As a slow smile pulls at my mouth, I point a finger at him. “Okay. That one, I’ll give you.”

  He grins more at me. “You’re going to a wedding with her. She can come here to meet me too. Fair’s fair.” He winks at me again, and I realize where I get that habit from.

  I release a deep, long breath. It’s more like a sigh. And then I relent. Because he means the world to me, and I’ll do anything I can to make him happy while he’s still here. Even if that means blowing everything in my own life apart, I guess.

  “Fine,” I tell him, hiding my smile with my hand. I turn my head a little and look at him out of the corners of my eyes. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”

  “That’s a good boy,” he says like I’m a well-trained puppy. Maybe I am with him. And that’s fine. “Now, see if I can get some more of that green Jell-O. That’s some good stuff.”