“So you have been fantasizing about them?”
“A little bit,” I confess, lying only a little. I’ve been fantasizing a lot. “Does that make me weird? I mean, shouldn’t I be fantasizing about the perfect white dress, a house in the ‘burbs and two-point-five children instead?”
Gabby shakes her head. “You are an adventurer, Bails. Why on earth would your fantasies be conventional? You love to explore. You need someone that can keep up with that.” She giggles. “Or two someones.” She sips her iced tea. After a pause, she adds, “I could never understand why you dated Trevor. He was stodgy. And more than that, he wasn’t nice.”
She’s right, but Trevor’s not what I want to focus on right now. “Daniel and Sebastian were nice,” I say aloud. “I mean, they offered to teach me how to play pool, and they didn’t have to do that. But come on, Gabby. I barely know them.”
She rolls her eyes. “As if knowing someone is a prerequisite to good sex,” she quips dryly.
Gabby might like to pretend that she’s the queen of casual hookups, but I know better. Her desire to keep things superficial with the men she dates isn’t because she doesn’t want something more lasting. Rather, it’s because a succession of absolutely vile men have broken her heart, and she’s formed a shell to protect herself.
“It is for me,” I reply. “I don’t have to fall in love with them, you know? I don’t walk around with stars in my eyes. But I think I have to like them before I sleep with them.”
Is that a lie? Had I ever actually liked Trevor? He’d taken me to fancy restaurants and he’d bought me flowers and I’d become smitten because I wasn’t used to being wooed. The luster had, however, faded fast.
“So Google them,” she suggests. “Talk to them, get to know them.”
She makes it sound so easy. “Would you do it again?” I ask her. “Your threesome, I mean.” I don’t know why I’m talking about this. Perhaps I need to say the word threesome out aloud, as if hearing the words spoken would snap me out of my crazy thoughts.
“I don’t do relationships, Bailey,” she responds quietly. “Not anymore. But,” she continues, “if I did, I would. Absolutely.” A wistful look crosses her face. “They were so good. For the space of one evening, I was the most treasured person in the world. They were very… attentive.”
It’s my turn to laugh at her. “Who’s getting all hot and bothered now?” I tease. “Sorry, dollface. You’re not my type.”
She shakes her head with a smile, but not before I catch a fleeting glimpse of the look of regret in her eyes. “Here’s my advice, Bailey, whether you want it or not. Everyone’s a consenting adult. If they are interested, then what’s the harm in something casual?”
“It’s only a fantasy, Gabby. Just because I have naughty thoughts about Daniel and Sebastian, it doesn’t mean they’ll come true. I’m not married to Brad Pitt, am I?”
She laughs. “Brad Pitt isn’t playing pool with you every week. Daniel and Sebastian are. It seems to me that you have an opportunity to make things happen.”
“I’m leaving for Argentina in the fall,” I respond.
“So what? I’m not suggesting a relationship, just some good sex to make up for the drought. The pool league isn’t a long-term commitment, is it?”
She’s right. Once this season is over, I won’t see my teammates again. A casual fling with Sebastian and Daniel will have a built-in shelf life, the same way my relationship with Ivan did. I was able to survive my breakup with Ivan unscathed, and I’m sure things would be similar with Daniel and Sebastian.
I’m sure of it.
Really sure.
Okay, I might be trying to convince myself. I can close my eyes right now and picture both of them in crystal-clear detail. I remember every word of our brief conversation. Thinking about the look of intent in their eyes, my skin erupts in goosebumps. I never had such a reaction to Ivan.
When it comes to my personal life, I’m extremely good at ignoring the obvious. “You are right,” I tell Gabby. “I’m done with the pool league in July, and I leave for Patagonia at the end of August. This might be a really good idea.”
9
Sebastian
To thine own self be true.
William Shakespeare, Hamlet
It’s Wednesday. I’ve been working all week at Seb New York with Ben, and it’s been exhausting. The guy doesn’t pay attention, he can’t see problems starting to form, and he can’t get production out of the line chefs. The kitchen, normally a smoothly functioning machine, is struggling to cope with his waffling and his indecisiveness.
God, I miss Helen. I call to tell her that on Saturday night, after a grueling shift in the kitchen, and she snickers. “I should ask for a raise, Chef,” she jokes.
“It’s yours,” I tell her sincerely. “I didn’t realize how good I had it with you. How are you making out with your clowns?”
“They aren’t that bad,” she replies. “Just needed a little whipping into shape. Some of them thought a woman couldn’t lead a kitchen.” She snorts. “I corrected that impression.”
Helen stands five feet tall, and weighs ninety pounds soaking wet. Still, I feel sorry for the idiots who dared to even hint that she didn’t belong. Helen can kick ass with the best of them. “The fools.” The phone chimes in my ear. Another call’s coming through. “Hey, Helen, I have to go. I’ll call you back over the weekend.”
Juliette’s on the other line. I pick up the call. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“Sebastian,” she says, her voice urgent and slightly irritated. “Where have you been? I’ve left you a couple of messages today. Don’t you check your texts?”
“I work in a kitchen, Juliette,” I point out. “I’m hardly going to be fiddling with my phone when food’s about to burn on the stove. What’s going on?”
“A couple of the franchise deal investors are in town tonight, and they want to meet you at Seb New York,” she says. “Can you skip pool so they can meet you?”
I think of Bailey. I’ve been looking forward to this evening all week long. In the shower, I’ve closed my eyes and imagined her slick, wet body next to mine. Her eyes had widened when I’d hinted we were interested, and her breathing had caught. She’d definitely picked up on the signal.
I can’t wait to see where this evening might go. It’s been years since I’ve felt this kind of anticipation for a woman. Juliette’s franchise opportunity pales in comparison. “Sorry,” I tell her. “I can’t. I’m busy tonight.”
“Sebastian, this is really important. We just need thirty minutes. What if I can get them there in an hour?”
I’m leaving in twenty minutes to head to the Maxwell Club, where Daniel and I are teaching Bailey how to play pool. Then again, the franchise deal is important, isn’t it? For so many years, I’ve dreamed about showing everyone in Mississippi that I defied their expectations and made something of myself. What’s a pool lesson in comparison?
My phone buzzes. It’s a text message from Daniel. Leaving work now, it says. See you in thirty minutes?
I make my decision. “No can do, Juliette,” I tell her, my voice steady. “I’m far too busy running my restaurants for last-minute meetings. Next time, give me a little more heads-up. ”
There’s a long pause, then she clears her throat meaningfully. “Running your restaurants?” Her voice has a hint of suspicion in it. “Is that the real reason you can’t meet us today?”
“What are you saying, Juliette?”
Her voice is curt. “The window of opportunity is small, Sebastian. We may never get another chance like this. Our entire focus should be on this deal.”
“Seb New York and Seb II are always going to come first. You have to know that.”
“Make time for this, Sebastian,” she says. “Else this might slip through your fingers.” She sighs. “I’ll look through your calendar and arrange another time. Oh, tell Clark I’m going to be really late. I need to take these guys out for drinks first.”
; “Stay away from Seb New York,” I warn her. “Ben’s not ready for prime time yet.”
As I get ready to leave, I dwell on my warped sense of priorities. I should have blown off Daniel and Bailey, and met with the investors, but I don’t want to. The only place I want to be this evening is at Maxwell Club, helping a curvy redhead improve her pool game.
10
Daniel
Who wishes to fight must first count the cost.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
I’m back in that alley behind the Maxwell Club, and I can’t tear my eyes away from Bailey. She’s wearing lingerie. Lines of leather and lace crisscross her breasts. The thong she wears shows the lush curves of her ass. Bailey’s dressed for sex, and I’m ready to oblige and next to me, so is Sebastian.
Our shared desire hangs heavy in the air.
Sebastian moves closer and pins Bailey in place against a wall. “Spread your legs for me,” he growls and she obeys instantly.
“Is she wet?” I ask from my position opposite her. I don’t come closer, not yet, but my voice is thick with lust. “Check her, Sebastian.”
He kneels between her feet, his hands gripping the sides of her panties. He yanks them down harshly. The fabric rips, but she doesn’t care. She thrusts her hips into Sebastian’s face. “Please…” she begs.
My cock jumps in reaction to her pleas, her open need.
Sebastian pushes three fingers into her wet, waiting pussy. “She’s soaked, Daniel.” His voice is rich with satisfaction. “Take off the bra, Bailey.”
“Here? Anyone can see,” she protests weakly, but her hands are already reaching behind to unclasp the offending garment.
“Are you questioning us, Bailey?” I ask her, my voice taut. I come closer now and my hand grips at her jaw before I press a hard kiss on her waiting lips. My tongue runs at the seam of her lips till she permits me entry.
Blood pounds in my head. She whimpers as Sebastian’s fingers thrust in and out of her pussy, his tongue dancing over her clitoris. “Please,” she begs again. Looking at her, I can tell that her climax is close. Another few seconds…
Sebastian and I exchange glances, then he thrusts his fingers in and out of her, faster and harder. At the same time, I pinch Bailey’s erect nipples between my fingers. She erupts between us in waves and waves of pleasure.
When I wake up and my head clears from its sexual fog, I shake my head in chagrin. I can’t remember the last time I had a sex dream about a woman.
Bailey Moore is trouble.
Bailey isn’t there when I get to the Maxwell Club, but Sebastian is, idly shooting some pool. I grab a beer at the bar, and walk over to him. “Want to play a game or two while we wait?”
“Sounds good,” he agrees. He racks the balls efficiently, and we toss a coin to see who breaks. Sebastian wins, and he bends over the table. “Be honest with me. What do you think of Juliette's franchise proposal?”
We haven’t had a chance to talk about this. I’ve been spending a lot of time in Kansas City, and he’s been busy sorting out the mess with Ben. This is the first opportunity we’ve had to talk about Juliette’s ambitious plans. “I’m always honest with you,” I respond. “It's a terrible idea.”
He breaks. Three balls hurtle into pockets. “I thought you might say that.”
“Don't you think so? You have to know that setting up a chain of franchise restaurants will take too much time away from your operations in New York. Already, you’re writing a cookbook and you’re filming a Food Network show. Where are you going to fit it in?” I shake my head. “You are spreading yourself dangerously thin.”
Sebastian doesn’t deny the truth of my words. “You’re right,” he says. “I know I’m crazy to think about this. Seb New York is my home. I’d rather shove bamboo skewers underneath my fingernails than to see it languish because of my inattention.” The nine slides into the top right pocket. “Still,” he says slowly. “The vision of a restaurant in Hattiesburg shimmers and beckons.”
“Why are you still trying to prove yourself to them, Sebastian?” I ask him, though I know the answer. Sebastian’s upbringing was hell, and I do understand his desire to rub his success in the face of his hometown. “There are people here in New York who believe in you, who want you. Can’t you just let Mississippi go?”
He misses his shot and I move to the table. “You did that deliberately,” he accuses with a faint grin. “Let’s change the topic. What do you think about Bailey? I'm looking forward to tonight.”
“As am I.” My smile dims as I shake my head. “I checked up on her,” I tell him. “She just moved out of a man's apartment. I’m assuming he’s the ex. His name is Trevor Decker. The guy owns about a dozen sandwich shops in the city. And he plays in the league. What?”
Sebastian’s trying hard not to smirk. “It's my job to know things,” I tell him, sounding defensive. “Besides, most of this was just Google.”
“Someone's very interested,” he chuckles. “It’s good to see you focus on something that isn’t work.”
I grimace. We both have our flaws. Sebastian can’t let his past go. I have an all-consuming focus on the family firm, leaving me no time for women or relationships or anything else.
“What are you going to do about our bet if Bailey doesn’t show up this week? Clark was a douchebag to her. Maybe she doesn’t want to play anymore.”
“My bet,” I correct him. “I believe it was me that put forward the number.” I shrug. “It’s fifty grand. I’m not going to get bent out of shape about it.”
Sebastian gives me a shit-eating grin. “If she shows, I’m totally going to enjoy coaching her. I think I caught a vibe from her.”
I roll my eyes and refuse to rise to the bait. “Please. You think you are going to score all the fucking time.” I lift my head and I see that Bailey’s walked in while I was taking my shot. She’s at the bar, laughing and saying something to the bartender as he hands her a shot of vodka. She’s wearing black again today - black pants and a black shirt, but unlike last week, her hair isn’t pulled back into a ponytail. It cascades in lush waves over her shoulders and down her back. She looks softer this way. Prettier.
She downs the drink before she turns and heads our way. “She’s here now, hot-shot,” I tell Sebastian. “Let’s see what you can do.”
She looks wary as she approaches us. “Hey,” she says, and there’s a definite note of unease in her voice. “You guys are here.”
“Is something wrong?” I ask her.
“I didn’t realize who you were when you offered to teach me how to play pool,” she says, making a face. “Daniel Hartman - billionaire CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Sebastian Ardalan, the youngest chef to earn two Michelin stars. Shouldn’t you be too busy to tutor me?”
Sebastian chuckles. “You googled us,” he teases. “I’m flattered.”
She flushes, and I interject before her embarrassment worsens. “We googled you too,” I reassure her. “You’re a cultural anthropologist at NYU, right? What brings you to our team?”
She grimaces ruefully. “My ex-boyfriend thinks I’m hopeless at pool. I want to prove him wrong. You didn’t answer my question, by the way. Why are you helping me?”
I bite back my smile, and Sebastian laughs aloud. I should have guessed she would be smart enough to notice the half-answer. I’ve been reading the blog she kept when she was in Russia in my spare time, and her entries reveal a bright, curious, enthusiastic woman. Already, I’m fascinated by her. There’s not a single woman in my social circle who would voluntarily spend a month in the wilderness of Siberia, let alone a year.
“Daniel bet Clark fifty grand you’d win in July.” Sebastian tells her with a grin, ignoring the withering look I send him.
I expect her to yell or rant, but she surprises me by bursting out laughing. “That is such a cliché,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Bored billionaires betting on the lives of mere mortals like myself.”
“Daniel’s the only billionaire
,” Sebastian corrects her. “I’m just a cook.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course, Chef Ardalan. So let me see if I get this straight. The two of you are going to teach me how to play pool so Daniel won’t lose fifty thousand dollars.” She’s still amused. “Will you even miss the money?” she asks me.
I’m more intrigued by her with each passing second. “That’s not the point,” I reply. “I don’t like to lose. So what do you say, Bailey? Are you in? Do you want us to coach you?”
She gives me a challenging look. “Will I get good enough to beat Trevor?”
“If you follow directions.” There’s definitely innuendo in my phrasing.
“Directions.” She tests that phrase out on her tongue with an arch of her eyebrow.
“Mmm-hmm.”
She looks from me to Sebastian, then back to me. Finally, she shakes her head with a laugh. “So, about that pool lesson. What do I need to do?”
11
Bailey
It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.
E.E. Cummings
Unfair though it is, I blame Gabby for my confused state of mind. If she hadn’t told us about her threesome, such a forbidden fantasy wouldn’t have even been in the realms of possibility.
Now, as Daniel bends over me, helping me aim my pool cue, I can’t stop imagining him doing other things to me in the same position. As Sebastian gives me instructions, I wonder if he’s just as dominant in bed. I have butterflies in my stomach and sex on the brain.
When Sebastian mentioned the bet, my heart had sunk to my toes. They hadn’t made the offer to coach me because they were being nice, or because they wanted to help me. It was about winning the bet and nothing else.
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 6