Second Best, #1

by Noelle Adams

  “No. Although we did eat lunch together on Monday. Just accidentally. In the break room. But...” I trailed off. It was starting to sound a bit silly that I was so excited about eating lunch with a guy.

  Maybe I was kind of silly.

  “But what?” Sean prompted.

  I was still wearing the white hotel bathrobe, and I had to pull one side back up over my shoulder since it was slipping down. “But it was something. Or it would have been if I hadn’t embarrassed myself.”

  I’d been planning to tell Sean about this for the past two days. In fact, I’d worked out the story in my mind several times, planning it out in a way that made it as funny as possible. I’d actually been looking forward to Sean laughing about it.

  He wasn’t laughing now though, so I wasn’t sure I should go into it. It didn’t match the feeling between us right now.

  “What was embarrassing?” His eyes were still focused on my face, and it seemed like he really wanted to hear the story. So I told him.

  “I was eating lunch in the break room,” I began. “And then he comes to sit down with me since he was eating lunch too. He was asking me all these questions about myself, and I was happy about it. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt this way, but there’s this strange sort of excitement when you’ve wanted something to happen for a long time, and then it seems like it’s happening. And you’re in the moment, but it also feels like someone else is in your skin. And the whole world seems to be... shuddering—like it’s a film, but someone isn’t holding the camera still.” I sighed and gave him an ironic smile. “I guess you’ve probably never felt that way.”

  “I have. I know what you’re talking about.”

  My heart gave a little flip at this, for no good reason, and I had to force myself to focus on my story. I went on, telling him about the conversation and how I was so distracted that I’d taken a breath when I shouldn’t have as I was eating my sandwich, and the bite of food went down the wrong way.

  So I’d started to choke. My airway wasn’t completely blocked, so it wasn’t a crisis, but I couldn’t stop coughing and I’d had to stand up as I tried to get control of myself, tears streaming down my face, smearing my mascara.

  And poor John hadn’t known what to do, so he’d gotten up and kept hitting my back like that would help until I could finally stop.

  I played up the story as well as I could, making sure it was as funny as I could make it. It hadn’t felt funny at the time. It had been genuinely embarrassing. But it had ended all right. John had seemed sincerely concerned, and he’d kept his hand on my back, sliding it down to just above my bottom in a gesture that felt more than supportive.

  I didn’t tell that part to Sean.

  That part felt personal.

  Sean enjoyed the story though. And he even chuckled as I reached the end, the only laughter I’d heard from him all evening. It wasn’t his normal laugh. It was soft and hoarse and slightly poignant, but it was real.

  And I saw exactly what happened after that.

  He was laughing, his face almost relaxed, when suddenly it froze. His expression went completely still, and something pained and haunted filled his eyes.

  I watched as it happened, and I knew exactly what it meant, how he felt.

  For a moment he’d forgotten what had happened to Lara, and then he’d remembered all of a sudden.

  Things always seemed to hurt more when you’d forgotten them for a little while.

  He let out a rough breath and turned his face away from me, staring out toward the window again.

  I had to do something. I had to comfort him in any way I could.

  It had been two years. He would probably always miss her. But he was allowed to relax and enjoy himself. He didn’t have to still feel guilty about it.

  I reached over to stroke his bare chest. He didn’t jerk away from my touch, so I kept it up, rubbing my hand over his collarbone, his flat nipples, the scattering of coarse hair, his firm abs.

  Quite unintentionally, my hand moved over to his side to the scar from the bullet wound. It was pale and puckered and would always look damaged.

  It was so wrong that his flesh had been ripped apart that way.

  It was so wrong that his heart had been ripped apart too.

  After a few minutes, he turned his head back to look at me. I was still lightly caressing his chest. It was the only thing I could think of to do.

  My hand had strayed down to his belly and was idly playing with the line of dark hair above his waistband. Because my hand was low on his body, my eyes were too, so I saw when he started to get hard.

  He was only partially erect, but it was noticeable under the thin fabric of his pants.

  “Sorry,” he said lightly. “I’ve been telling him there’s no more sex tonight, but he doesn’t always listen.”

  I giggled softly and moved my hand down to his shaft, holding it through the fabric.

  He sucked in a breath. “If you keep touching him like that, he’s never going to get the right idea.”

  I smiled then, suddenly thinking of something I could do.

  Sitting up, I moved so I could have easy access to his body. “We can do something,” I murmured.

  “What?” His eyes were slightly narrowed from the way I was touching him, but he clearly had no idea what I was referring to.

  “I can do something for you.” I lowered my upper body so my face was very close to his groin.

  He got it then. I could see quite clearly that he got it because his penis grew suddenly, visibly harder.

  “Are you sure?” he breathed.

  “Yeah.” I smiled down at him, filled with pleasure at having thought of something I could do for him, something to address the way I was feeling, something that might make him feel a little better—if only for a few minutes.

  I carefully stretched out his waistband and pulled down his pants, his erection bouncing slightly as it was freed.

  Then I took him in my hands again, stroking him for a minute before I lowered my mouth.

  Blow jobs had never been my thing. I’d given them to a couple of guys before—but only guys I was in serious relationships with. It had just never been something I enjoyed. In fact, one of my boyfriends had been generally a nice guy, but whenever I got his dick in my mouth, he’d start calling me all these dirty names, as if the position somehow called for the crude language.

  Maybe some women got turned on by that sort of thing—which was totally fine—but it had felt demeaning to me. I hadn’t liked it. At all. So I’d always disliked going down on him, and I’d been hesitant about it ever since then.

  Tonight felt different though.

  This was something I was giving to Sean. He wasn’t taking it from me.

  I was a little nervous, and my throat was aching with emotion, but I was also excited and tender, and I wanted to do this.

  He hissed when I slid my tongue up and down his shaft, and his hips moved restlessly when I licked circles around the head. His hand had moved to the back of my head, combing through my loose hair and curling around the back of my skull.

  He wasn’t holding me there by force. It felt more like a caress.

  I took him fully in my mouth and sucked a few times, and he moaned low in his throat. I sucked again, and his fingers tightened in my hair as he breathed. “Oh God. Oh God, Ash!”

  My back was stretched uncomfortably, so I let him slip out of my mouth so I could rearrange my body. As I did, he reached over and untied my robe, slowly pulling the sides apart so he could see my breasts.

  He was staring at me hungrily now.

  I leaned over and took him in my mouth again. My blood was pulsing intensely, and I was filled with emotional tension I’d never experienced before.

  As I sucked, I took his balls in one of my hands and squeezed them gently.

  Soon—very soon—Sean was grunting low and soft, rocking his hips up toward me. I adjusted my rhythm and depth to accommodate the thrusts of his hips and breathed raggedly t
hrough my nose as the muscles of his thighs and stomach grew tighter and tighter.

  “Oh fuck!” he gasped, reaching out to claw at the bedding with one of his hands. The other was fisted in my hair now. “Oh fuck. I’m... I’m...”

  He was close to coming already. I could feel it, see it in his body. I kept sucking and squeezing as my own arousal throbbed achingly.

  He was totally gone now, and I experienced a sudden flare of panic about what to do when he came. Should I let him come in my mouth—or should I move and let him come on my chest or something? What would he prefer? What would he expect?

  These are the kinds of questions that always come to me at the worst possible times, even when I should be caught up in a moment. Maybe some women are completely confident about such things, but I have never been one of them.

  As it happened, I didn’t have time to make a decision. He was already coming, his body shaking with it and a long, unrestrained moan releasing from his throat. His shaft pulsed with his climax, and he ejaculated into my mouth. He’d come earlier though, so fortunately there wasn’t that much semen for me to deal with.

  I was panting as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and finally raised my head from his groin. I kept stroking him as he softened in my hand.

  When my eyes moved to his face, I grew suddenly still.

  His eyes were closed, and his features were relaxed. More relaxed than I’d seen them all evening.

  But I could see a streak from a tear running from one eye down into his hair.

  It stilled me. Filled me with too much. Far more emotions than I knew how to deal with.

  I felt like I might burst into tears myself, so I did the only reasonable thing a person could do in my situation.

  I got off the bed and went into the bathroom to clean up and rinse out my mouth.

  I was aroused myself, but my emotions were a lot more powerful, and I didn’t really feel like coming right now.

  I had no idea what to do.

  I stood in front of the mirror and breathed until I felt mostly calm again. Then I went back into the room. He was still sprawled out on the bed, his pants pushed down, his eyes closed, his body completely relaxed.

  I walked around to his side of the bed to pick up the jacket to my suit. As I leaned over, he reached out to grab my hand.

  I turned to look at him.

  “Thank you,” he rasped, holding my hand in his.

  I swallowed hard. “You’re welcome. I enjoyed it.”

  “I didn’t just mean the blow job.”

  I gulped again, touched and emotional and so incredibly confused.

  “Are you leaving?” he asked in a different voice.

  “I... I don’t know.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  I let out a breath, those two words answering my lingering questions. “Okay. I won’t.”

  So instead of picking up my jacket and getting dressed, I went back over to my side of the bed and crawled under the covers. Sean moved so he was under them too.

  He’d rolled over on his side so his back was to me, but I still sensed a profound neediness to him, even in his silence.

  So I did something very brave. An act of courage I didn’t know I possessed. I scooted over and put my arms around him, spooning him from behind.

  He raised one hand and rubbed my forearm, which made me think he liked that I was holding him this way.

  He would never say so, but I was sure he did, so my nerves relaxed.

  I didn’t say anything else. We just lay together like that until his body softened completely and his breathing slowed down.

  It wasn’t that long before he was asleep in my arms.

  It was a lot longer before I fell asleep myself.

  Sean was sexy, handsome, funny, charming, ruthlessly intelligent. He was a success in every venture he’d ever tried.

  In the past two years, he’d built barriers around his heart that would never come down.

  He was strong and uniquely brilliant—making sure the world never thought he was weak.

  But he would always be human.

  And someone he loved had died.

  WE BOTH SLEPT THROUGH the night the way we had two weeks earlier, but I wasn’t confused and disoriented when I woke up in the morning.

  I felt heavy. Heavy and still emotional and absolutely terrified.

  Sean was still asleep—his body warm and relaxed and irresistibly close to me—but it was almost six, and I had to get moving right away.

  I got up quietly and got dressed in the dark, being careful not to wake him up.

  I wanted him to sleep as long as he could.

  I was slipping on my shoes when I heard him mumble, “Ash.”

  I turned to look and saw he’d reached a hand out for me, the way he had the evening before. I took his hand in mine, and he pulled me closer to the bed.

  He’d opened his eyes to look up at me with a heavy, sleep-clouded gaze. “See you in two weeks?”

  From the upward lilt of his voice, it sounded more like a question than a statement.

  Could he actually be wondering if I wanted to meet up with him again?

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be here.” Without thinking, I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on his lips before I let his hand slip out of mine.

  I shouldn’t have done that.

  It reflected something I shouldn’t be feeling.

  I had to get out of this room. Fast.

  I grabbed my bag and left without another word. When I got into the elevator, I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and telling myself to get a grip.

  I was just feeling different because he’d been so sad and vulnerable last night. I’d feel this way about anyone I liked who needed comforting.

  It wasn’t anything more than that.

  It couldn’t be anything more.

  Sean wasn’t a man I was allowed to love—even if I’d wanted to. And I didn’t.

  John had always been the one I loved, and nothing about that had changed. Things were going well with him, and I had every reason to hope that they’d keep getting better.

  I just felt close to Sean right now because he’d needed comforting last night.

  I felt things for other people. It was normal and natural.

  There was nothing for me to be terrified about.

  If I couldn’t stop thinking about Sean’s face after he’d come, if I couldn’t stop thinking about that single tear that had leaked out of his eye, if it made me want to run back to the room and hold him in my arms again—have him hold me too—then that was just a temporary response to the empathy.

  It didn’t mean anything.

  And it certainly didn’t mean that Sean’s place in my life was changing.

  After all, the world was what was, and Sean Doyle would always be Sean Doyle.

  He’d always been my second best.

  Five

  TWO DAYS AFTER THAT night with Sean, I asked John Cooper out.

  I didn’t normally do that sort of thing. In fact, I’d never done that sort of thing. I completely supported women asking men out whenever they wanted, but it didn’t feel natural to me personally.

  But after two days thinking about Sean and how we’d been together on Wednesday, I knew I had to take action before I got myself into an emotional tangle.

  I’d made decisions a long time ago. I’d fallen in love with John on the first day I met him. And these confusions about Sean would fade away as soon as I was once again focusing on my priority.

  John was my priority, and nothing about that had changed.

  So I did something I never thought I’d do. I was desperate enough to take a real step. At the end of the workday on Friday, I stopped by John’s office and asked if he wanted to grab some dinner.

  I purposefully made it casual, spontaneous, like it wasn’t a big deal. It felt like a big deal to me. I was so nervous my mouth was dry and my hands were freezing. I managed to get the words out though, and from John’s friendly ex
pression, I must have sounded basically normal.

  He looked surprised, but he said, “Sure. I don’t have any plans.”

  And that was it.

  I was going to dinner with John after three years of wanting to.

  We went to a little French place just down the block from work, and we kept it easy and casual.

  The truth is, I was so focused on containing my excitement and not sounding like I was totally besotted or completely boring that the whole thing ended up being stressful rather than fun.

  But it went fine. Perfectly fine. At the end, John leaned down to give me a little kiss just beside my mouth and said we should do this again.

  I couldn’t ask for more than that, after forcing the issue the way I had.

  It felt like I was outside my body, watching myself say goodbye to him, and when I got into my car at last, I closed my eyes and groaned as I was finally able to relax.

  It was good.

  It was really good.

  It was what I wanted.

  And I could hardly compare one after-work dinner to my nights with Sean. True, the conversation hadn’t been nearly so engaging. And true, I hadn’t been able to relax and really be myself the way I was with Sean.

  But I could hardly expect it to be the same.

  I had no expectations of Sean. I knew exactly what we were together. With John, I was constantly hoping, waiting, wishing for something specific. It would change, get better, if we were in a real relationship.

  I knew it would.

  For one thing, I wouldn’t be constantly overwhelmed with jitters whenever I was with him.

  After reassuring myself of all these truths, I went home, feeling like the evening had been a success.

  I’d thought I would think about John before I went to sleep that night, but my mind kept drifting back toward Sean.

  I hoped he was feeling better.

  I hoped he wasn’t sad.

  I hoped he wasn’t still grieving for the woman he’d loved and lost.

  I wondered how he’d act when I saw him again—a week from next Wednesday.

  It seemed like a long time to wait.

  TWO WEDNESDAYS LATER, I was leaving my office and thinking about Sean when a voice stopped me in the hall.