by Sarina Bowen
It’s a lot to plan. I’m either a genius or a psycho. Possibly both.
As soon as I see Griffin’s headlights turn into the driveway, I slam my laptop shut with a guilty click.
Audrey enters her kitchen a minute later, where I'm still sitting at her table. "How was he?" she asks, meaning her son.
"Fine," I insist, even though it took me an hour to get my nephew to go to sleep.
"Fine, like easy? Or fine like your eardrums will eventually heal?"
I laugh. “The second thing. But I'm a softie. When he whimpers, I run back into his room.”
Little Gus just doesn't like to go to sleep without his mom and his dad at home. But he’s only one, and his mom is pretty great, so it's hard to blame him.
"How was the dinner party?" I ask as my sister-in-law sits down opposite me.
"It was chill," she says. "Just an excuse for May and Alec to see some friends, I think. This is for you." Audrey puts two twenty-dollar bills on the table.
I make a sound of petty outrage and push them back toward her. "I don’t need your money. I like to spend time with Gus. Besides, I was mostly reading in your kitchen, which is much quieter than my kitchen."
"I told you she wouldn't take it," my brother Griffin says, coming through the door.
“It's not really fair for you to skip your own sister's party for me,” Audrey says.
"It was a couples dinner, you goof," I argue. Besides, May would rather see Audrey anyway. Everyone knows it. I lift my laptop from the table and stow it in my backpack.
"How about a drink before you go?" Griffin asks. “Or three drinks. I have some new applejacks to sample.”
“Ooh, twist my arm.” While I've been out trying, and failing, to save the world, Griffin has been busy learning to make all kinds of yummy and profitable things. He’s a respected family man and a community leader.
I am a failure. But I am here to celebrate his success, especially if it means a taste test.
Audrey gleefully sets out nine tiny tasting glasses, while my brother gets bottles out of the cabinet. “The two year is finally ready," he says. "Let's compare it to the 90-day aged, and the unaged.”
"Let's," I agree.
I taste the clear, unaged liquor first. I roll a drop of it around on my tongue. “Crisp,” I say. “Notes of citrus and paint thinner.”
Audrey laughs, and Griffin kicks me under the table.
“What? I’m not a boozer. Maybe you asked the wrong girl.”
“Try this one,” he says, pushing the two year toward me.
I take another little taste. “Ooh. This one is more my speed. It’s deep and bold. Notes of plum, and pretentious leather upholstery.”
“You’re just fucking with him now.” Audrey giggles.
“It’s good, I mean it.”
Griffin gives me a smile. He’s great at his job, and we both know that my opinion doesn’t really count here. He sets the third shot between the other two and then takes a drink for himself. “You know Mom is on a dating app?”
“What?” I nearly choke on my third taste. “She is not.”
“She is,” Audrey confirms. “I helped her with her profile picture.”
“Why?” I demand. “Those sites are full of con artists and assholes.”
Griffin’s eyes lift. “You have a lot of experience with this?”
“No,” I say firmly. “But I read. And the news isn’t good.”
“Mom is too smart to be conned,” Griffin says. “But I wish she could just meet a man at the church coffee hour.”
“Why does she have to meet a man at all?” I whine.
“She’s only in her fifties, Daphne,” my brother chides. “In a couple of years you’ll be gone to God knows where, and your brother will be shacked up with Chastity somewhere. Do you want Mom and Grandpa to be all alone?”
“What’s wrong with being alone?” I ask the happiest couple in America.
They look back at me with identical pitying smiles.
I pick up one of my shot glasses and drink it down.
An hour later I'm walking carefully down the wide, grassy aisle that cuts through row upon row of our apple trees. I rarely allow myself to get tipsy. I like to stay in control. But the applejack had begun to loosen the big ball of stress in my chest almost from the first sip.
So I'd drunk plenty. And why not? The journey home is only a quiet walk across our own property. It’s a quiet summer night, and yet I’m not completely alone. Up ahead, at the halfway point, I see an unfamiliar creature. Someone is lying on a blanket and staring up at the stars.
As I get closer, that person suddenly sits up, his body tense, and stares in my direction.
It’s Rickie. And I feel myself smile in spite of myself. I don’t know how a guy can seem sexy and strong and still a little hapless and silly all at the same time. It’s something to think about later, after I metabolize all the apple brandy I just drank.
“Hey McFly,” I call out. “You’re awfully jumpy.”
“Bears,” he says, clutching his chest. “I have to look out for bears.”
“Not in the dark,” I argue, dropping to my knees on the edge of the blanket. “Deer wander around in the dark, though. So do coyotes.”
“Good to know,” he says, dropping back down, his hands behind his head. “What are you doing out here?”
“I was babysitting my nephew. What are you doing out here?”
He points upward. “Absolutely nothing. Just watching the night sky. Your brother and Chastity went to bed early.”
“Of course they did.”
He grins.
“And people wonder why I didn’t jump at the chance to move into your house in Burlington. Who wants to overhear sibling sex?”
Rickie reaches out and covers my hand with his. “Well, it depends on how we organized the rooms. You might need to stay off the second floor. That third floor room is a little small. But it’s very private.”
I look down at his hand on mine. It’s a good-looking hand. Strong. Broad.
There’s a reason I don’t drink.
“Are you thinking about moving in?” he asks.
“Not sure,” I say, holding my cards close. “Why should I?”
“Well, it’s cheap, just like me.” He gives me a sleazy wink. “And noise-canceling headphones cost less than Burlington rents. Just saying.”
“Cheap is good,” I admit. “In this case.”
“Don’t forget the location, on one of central Burlington’s most convenient streets. And then there’s the view.”
“The view?” I don’t think you can see the lake from that part of the city.
“The view.” He pulls up his T-shirt to show me his abs.
Apple brandy makes me look. And look. And lick my lips.
Rickie makes a low chuckle. Then the jerk does an ab crunch so that he can remove his shirt entirely and cast it aside. “Any questions?”
He leans back, supporting his weight on his hands. Suddenly, I can’t even remember what we were discussing. I’m locked into a staring match with Rickie’s abs, and those wings that are tattooed onto his delicious pecs.
“Come here,” he says softly.
“Why?”
“Because our last kiss was bitchin’, and I want a rematch. We’re all alone out here, right? What’s the harm?”
What’s the harm? echoes the alcohol in my bloodstream. “But why me?” I blurt out. That’s what’s really holding me back. I don’t understand his interest. And I’ve been burned before.
Rickie tilts his head to the side, as if confused. “What the fuck kind of question is that? Why you? Because you make me crazy with your short skirts and sass and your big opinions. And if you don’t come over here right now and kiss me, I’m going to think you’re afraid of kissing. You’re chicken.”
“Chicken?” God, this man knows how to push all my buttons. The youngest of four children can never resist a dare.
Still, the youngest of four children also
likes to argue. “I’m not afraid of kissing. But I really dislike bullshit. The last man I kissed was only in it for career advancement, okay? He talked me into his bed, and now I’m moving to a different state and hoping nobody ever finds out that my actions have compromised ten years’ worth of research. So pardon me if I ask a few questions first.”
In the silence after my outburst, I regret everything. A very sexy man asked me to kiss him. And I gave him a lecture instead.
Is it really that surprising that I rarely go out on dates?
Rickie doesn’t react the way I expect. He doesn’t get up and walk away, or even tell me to forget it. He tilts his head, considering me. And then he whispers, “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
I swallow hard. “Why yes, I suppose he did.”
“I see.” He beckons to me. “Come here and I’ll answer your question.”
“My question,” I repeat.
“Yeah, I’m ready to explain why I want kisses from you.” He crooks his finger. “But you have to sit on my lap if you want to hear the answer.”
I move forward without really thinking it through. Because I do want to hear the answer, damn it. Why does he have to be so stunning in the starlight, with that bare chest practically reeling me in like a trout on a hook?
As I approach, Rickie puts his hands around my waist and hauls me onto his thighs, so I’m straddling him. My short little skirt rides up, and I smooth it down, as if I had any dignity left to maintain.
His lips twitch. “That’s better.” He reaches up and brushes the hair away from my face. “You know what the great philosophers had to say about sexual desire?”
I shake my head for two reasons. First, I have no idea. And second, I’m trying not to give any more lectures tonight. Because now that I’m this close to him, I would like another one of those kisses, please.
“The answer is nothing,” he whispers. “Barely a word about man’s most natural instincts. Maybe they considered it too base to discuss. Or—and I like this theory better—maybe Plato didn't think I needed a reason to kiss a pretty girl in the moonlight.”
My face is still tingling where he touched it a moment ago.
Rickie leans in, and I hold my breath. But he doesn’t kiss me yet. Instead, he traces my cheekbone with his lips. “There are so many reasons why I want you,” he whispers. “It’s a lot of things at once. It’s these long legs…” He trails a hand down my bare shin.
And, wow, it’s been a really long time since someone touched me like that. I shiver under his fingers.
“It’s your perfect face.” He places one slow kiss on my cheekbone. “But it’s also the snarky things you say with this smart mouth.” He runs his thumb over my top lip. “And it’s your attitude—like the world would just run a little better if they’d let you be in charge, you know?”
“Well it would,” I whisper.
He smiles.
“You have a thing for pushy women?” That’s the word Reardon used when he was irritated with me. Stop being so pushy, Jesus.
“Apparently I like ’em feisty,” Rickie says, his fingertips skimming lightly down my back.
I can’t believe I’m sitting in Rickie’s lap, letting him touch me. And I can’t believe how much I like it. My skin is dotted with goose bumps. And my lips are tingling, as if begging to be kissed.
“Your anger turns me on,” he says, tracing the shell of my ear with the tip of his nose.
“What? Why?” I shiver again. “That makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” he asks. “Maybe because I’m angry, too.”
I’m just trying to decide if that sounds like bullshit when those serious eyes come closer. And I might die if he doesn’t kiss me already.
Once more I’m startled by Rickie’s gentleness. He moves in, barely touching our mouths together. As if he knows that inside me beats the heart of a frightened little forest creature who might run off if he makes any sudden moves. Soft lips skim over mine. My goose bumps redouble.
But then it finally happens. My insides go whoosh as our mouths meld together for real. There’s some serious heat behind all that gentleness. Rickie’s arms come around me, until all the muscle cages me in.
God, it’s delicious. This is still a bad idea. But I’m doing it anyway. I lift my hands to his bare shoulders and sigh. Hard heat and muscle. Soft kisses and whiskers.
I feel him smile into the next kiss. He tilts his head and deepens our connection. It's more aggressive this time. Searching. When I lean in and kiss him back, he escalates by penetrating my mouth and tasting me.
Oh yes. It’s on.
What's the harm, he’d said. I'm sure I'll find out later. But right now, everything is wow.
My hands need to move and explore, so I put my palms on his bare chest. And now it’s his turn to shiver under my touch. Honestly, it’s a revelation. Can I make him do it again?
I brush his chest with light fingertips, experimenting. My thumb finds his nipple ring. And he makes a sexy grunt into our kiss. I wonder what he'd do if I put my tongue on it…
But I'll have to find out later, because Rickie owns my mouth. It's his now. Each kiss is followed by another. And another. I can't pull back or I'll miss one.
Meanwhile, his hands roam my body in a way that would be awfully presumptuous if it wasn’t making me so hot. His knuckles drag down the valley between my breasts. Then he bends his legs, prompting gravity to slide me further into his lap, until we’re chest to chest.
His thumbs sneak under the fabric of the little summer top I'm wearing, and my belly quivers at the contact of his skin against mine. Maybe I don't need a reason to kiss a bad boy in the starlight. It's such a damn relief to sink into his touch. And to stop thinking so hard.
I hear nothing but a static fuzz in my brain as we make out. It’s blissful. And his hands are magic. His touch knows things. It knows the sensitive spot at the base of my spine, where his fingertips make me shiver. It knows the undersides of my breasts, where dragging a thumb across the soft swell is enough to make my nipples peak and tingle.
My heart beats to a steady rhythm now. It says more, more, more. Unbidden, my own hands roam Rickie's bare chest, tracing the shadowy outlines of those tattoos.
And I can’t help but notice that I’m not the only one who’s loving this. There’s a hard ridge between my legs now. And when my fingers venture lower on those rock-hard abs, he hums his appreciation.
Funny. I always thought bad boys weren't my type. But now that seems like a miscalculation. It’s not like I’ve needed anyone’s help at screwing up my life single-handedly.
And bad boys are really really good with their hands.
Thirteen
Rickie
Plato said: “You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.” And maybe he was talking about sex. Because I’m learning a lot about Daphne right now. How she tastes, and how eagerly she moves against me as we touch and tease each other.
But she has trust issues. So I’m not going to strip her down and bang her under the stars. Even if I want to.
Badly.
I pull her a little closer against my chest nonetheless. I drop kisses down the smooth skin of her neck, and her answering gasp of appreciation is all I need in this world. Her hand wanders reverently across my bare back, venturing down to my ass. And I smile into our next kiss.
I used to be the kind of guy who could hook up and think nothing of it. Parties were for cruising. Names were optional. But I’m not that guy anymore. This is big for me. The desire coursing through my veins is a wondrous thing. I’ll never take it for granted again.
Daphne’s kisses mean more to me than she will ever guess. I’d forgotten how this feels—the heat of skin against skin, and the electric sizzle of my nerves every time she finds a new place to caress.
I kiss her deeply, and she moans, needing this just as much as I do. My tense, angry girl has finally let herself loose in my arms. It’s beaut
iful the way she shivers under my tongue. There are a couple of layers of clothing between us. But the heat of her core is unmistakable against my cock.
Reaching under her skirt, I palm the back of her thigh and then drag my fingertips upward. She’s so responsive. Each new inch of skin that I claim makes her quiver. Her ass feels exquisite in my hand. So I can’t resist tugging her a little more firmly onto my body.
God, I’ve missed sex. Our tongues tangle and tease. And Daphne begins to ride me slowly. It’s sweet agony. My dick strains against these shorts, desperate to get closer to the action.
Daphne’s clever fingers squeeze between our bodies, and she toys with the button of my shorts.
Nope. I’m not going there yet. So I gently steer her hand away, placing it on my chest instead.
She groans in frustration. I’ve clearly created a monster—a long-legged, sweet-smelling sex-monster. Her smooth fingers move on to teasing my nipples. And I really want to lay her out on this blanket and fuck her like a beast.
Our kisses grow desperate. I haven’t felt so wild, so free with myself in a long time. This is the stuff that dreams are made of. Hot kisses in the cool night air, and the whisper of the breeze in the grass.
Daphne moves against me hungrily. I slip my hand beneath her skirt, squeezing her ass, and she moans against my tongue. So I slide my fingers past the elastic of her panties, all the way down between her legs, cupping the heat of her core with my palm.
“Rickie,” she pants, and my name on her lips is like a drug.
“Let go, sweetheart.” I let my fingers slide and tease. She’s so wet for me. I feel like a sex god. “I’ve got you.”
She drops her face into my neck and issues a whispered curse.
“Shhh, beautiful girl,” I say as she rides my hand.
Her mouth traces my neck, and we both shiver. Then she lets out a beautiful whimper and clenches around my naughty fingers.
“Fuck, you are so lovely.” My voice is raw with unfulfilled desire. “So hot.” I force oxygen into my lungs as she sags against me.