Avery
I lose track of the music, of the bar—everything but Atticus and his body around mine. His hands on my hips, moving me to the beat, skating to my stomach, but never inching higher. His lips on my throat, my bare shoulder, whispering the song in my ear. I feel drunk, high, and he still hasn't kissed me.
The music changes, and I twist in his grip, facing him. Atticus watches me, his eyes half closed, a small smile on his lips. I lean into him and murmur, "Why won't you kiss me?"
Heat and hunger flare in his eyes, and I think he will. He pushes us deeper in the corner, until my back hits the wall. It startles me and should probably scare me—I'm caged in by the walls and his grip, his erection pressed against my belly. His head dips down. A sharp nip of teeth makes my knees weak, and he shoves a leg between mine, bracing me up. The friction of his jeans under my skirt, pushing against my core, has me panting. I thrust against his leg and he laughs, a darkly amused noise. "I won't kiss you, Avery, because if I do I won't stop. Not till you’re naked in my bed, and I've kissed every inch of that fuckable body and heard you scream."
The raw hunger in his voice, coupled with the mental image it summons is almost enough to make me orgasm, and he hasn’t even touched me. Distantly, I wonder how great sex with him will be.
“God, you’re so gorgeous,” he breathes, and I open my eyes to find him staring at me, almost reverently. He moves his leg and I whimper, riding it. A smirk turns his lips. “What do you want, Avery?”
The same question I asked him. If I dodge, I think he’ll pull away. We’ll fall back on our work relationship.
Dodging is the smart thing to do. I hesitate, and Atticus tenses, staring at me.
Before I can think anymore, I hook an arm around his neck and drag him down to me. “Quit playing, and make me come, Professor.”
He groans, his eyes closing. His leg pushes against my throbbing clit, and I bite his shoulder, muffling my shriek as I fall apart on the dance floor.
Chapter 10
Atticus
She’s late for work. I don’t know if it’s because she’s hung over—a likely reason, frankly—or because she’s too embarrassed to face me after last night.
I rub a hand over my face. Just thinking about her, the way she looked as she came for me, the sleepy haze in her eyes when she finally opened them, is enough to make me hard again.
And I’ve already gotten myself off, twice.
The door to the apartment opens, and I jerk around. Avery walks in carrying two large cups of coffee. She grins at me, and something eases in my chest, while things a bit south tighten.
“You’re here,” I say, stupidly.
She freezes, a look of concern crossing her pretty face. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”
I force a smile. “I didn’t know, after last night.”
She puts the coffee down, and crosses the room to stand in front of me, her arms crossed over her chest.
“What do you want, Atticus?” she murmurs.
I want to kiss her. I want to be with her tonight instead of Nik. “I don’t think I can have what I want.”
Disappointment flashes across her face, so quickly I almost don’t catch it. I pull her to me in a hug, releasing a pent up breath when she’s in my arms. She feels right. Right in a way Nik never did.
For the first time, I consider that Dane might be right. I might be willing to throw away everything for this girl.
"Today? I just want to be with you and do what we do every day." I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction.
Avery pulls away and sashays back to the counter. She grabs the coffees and turns to me, her eyes sparkling. "Did you burn my bagel again?"
And just like that, the tension is gone and we're what we've always been.
"What time are you leaving today?" I ask. I try to keep my tone even, but from the way her gaze darts up to mine, I don't succeed.
"At two thirty. Is that okay?"
Is it okay that she's leaving me to spend time with another man? No. Hell, no.
"It's fine. I wanted to talk to you about next week—I have to go to New Orleans."
Interest sparks in her eyes, and she pauses in the middle of slicing cheddar for her sandwich. I nudge her with my hip, reaching across her for the sliced onion. She smacks my hand lightly with the knife, and I grin. "Is next Thursday and Friday open for you?"
"You want me to come?"
I grin and lean over to whisper in her ear, "Sweetheart, you have no idea."
She laughs, that husky noise I love, and kisses my cheek quickly. "Behave."
I grab plates and a bag of vegetables she cut up yesterday as Avery finishes the sandwiches. Carrying the plates, I lead the way back to the couch. She toys with the notes she's been transcribing, and I wait.
Avery can't be pushed. I figured that out a while ago.
I'm done with my sandwich when she peeks at me. Her eyes catch on my arm, and she reaches out. Touches the little scar on my arm. "How did you get this?"
I grin. "Bar fight."
Her gaze, wide and surprised, darts up to mine, and I burst out laughing. “I don’t actually remember. Do you honestly think I’d get into a bar fight?”
“You almost did last night,” she says, pulling away. She swirls a carrot stick through the ranch dip and crunches into it. “Okay.”
My heart stutters, but I keep my gaze steady. “Okay, what?”
“I’ll go to New Orleans with you.”
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to sit still, to keep from kissing her.
“Good. I’ll make our reservations.”
She leans back, tucks her feet under her butt and grins at me. “I’ve never been.”
“You’ve never been to New Orleans? But it’s only three hours away—you’re a junior. How is that even possible?”
Avery shrugs. “Just never worked out. And I’ve tried to focus on school.”
“You haven’t partied at all?”
She smirks. “I’m a college student, and my roommate is Kelly Jeanmard. Of course I partied. I just kept it local—Greek on campus, the occasional rave at one of Baton Rouge clubs.”
The idea her at a fraternity party gets my blood going, and I have to look away. “Everyone should experience New Orleans—it’s amazing.”
A smile, slightly wistful, turns her lips. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Chapter 11
Avery
Jeffery rolls the window down as we hit the highway, and I give him a disgruntled look. “My hair, dude.”
“You are such a girl,” he teases. I snort and he grabs a pony tail holder from my cup holder and leans over, tugging my hair up for me.
He flops down into the passenger seat. I can feel his underlying curiosity, and I finally heave a sigh and turn the radio down. "Let's just get it out of the way."
Jeffery is quiet. Annoying man. "Avery, I'm worried," I say, pitching my voice low to mimic him. "I don't trust Grimes, he's a cad and too old for you."
He laughs, a sharp noise. "I don't sound like that, and I've never said 'cad' in my life. Don't confuse me with Jason."
I grin, taking a sip of my large frappe.
"He is too old for you," he adds.
"For the past three years, you and Jason—and Kelly—have been trying to get me to lighten up and have some fun. Now that I am, you’re worried and nitpicky?"
"What do you know about him?" Jeffery challenges. I hesitate, and he talks over my pause, "He's a professor—first strike against him. He's a known drunk."
"He drinks. Drinking with his roommate doesn't qualify someone as a drunk," I object.
"Why was he even living with his roommate? He's my age, for god's sake. Most people have a life by now."
I shrug. It's a good question, and I don't have an answer. Atticus doesn't talk about his past. He also doesn't push for mine. It's one of the best things about him. "Sometimes, Jeff, life gets screwed up and doesn't go the way you plan."
His gaze
softens a little, and he reaches over, squeezing my knee. I smile at him, weakly. "Josh called again."
Anger fills Jeff's dark eyes, and I shiver. "Why? What does he want?"
"To tell me to come back home. Like he could talk me into going to Grovetown. He really isn't very bright," I observe, hitting my blinker and merging into the fast lane.
"We all make mistakes when we're kids," Jeff says soothingly.
"Yeah? Maybe remember that when you start hating on Atticus."
He gives me a dirty look but nods, and I turn up the music.
The bridal shop gives me hives. I want to bolt, and Jeffery knows me well enough to know that. He almost drags me inside, tucking me into the side of his body with an arm around my shoulder. The girl at the desk takes one look at us and her eyes light up. I can practically see the wedding bells dancing around her head.
Sometimes, I wish Jeffery was more obviously gay.
"Can I help y'all?" she asks.
"We're looking for a few dresses—my sister called and had them set aside for me to try on."
"Wedding dress?"
I give her a false smile and shake my head. "Bridesmaid."
Her smile wilts. "What name would they be under?"
I give her my name, and we follow her through the shop. There's a few girls trying on big poufy white dresses, and I try to ignore them as I focus on the back of the sales lady's bun.
The mannequin distracts me—or the dress its wearing does. It's a long white sheath, a tight, high bodice with a lace overlay. The skirt flares into an elegant, understated train. Tiny seed pearls line the sweetheart neckline and thin straps.
It's gorgeous. And I would look fucking awesome in it.
I take a deep breath, shoving my sudden emotions down. Jeffery is watching me, his gaze sharp and assessing. It darts from the dress to me and back again. I see his questions and ignore them as I slip past him and into the dressing room.
Four teal dresses, the color of the Caribbean on a summer day, hang in the dressing room.
Jeffery doesn't seem impressed with the first two—one a short cocktail dress, one a long formless sheath. But he dutifully takes pictures to send to Amelia, and I duck back to try on the last two.
One is a strapless sundress that hugs my chest and flares out like little waves. I like it. If I had to pick, it'd probably be this one.
The last is a Grecian cut, sheer teal over a white underlay, one shoulder held together by a sapphire jewel. The skirt is a long column, with a startlingly high slit.
"Wow," Jeffery says, startled, "that's different."
I make a face. It's pretty, but it seems like it's too much for an afternoon wedding on the beach.
Which is why Amelia will pick it.
After dress shopping and running a few errands, we meet Jason and Sydney for dinner.
"Oh my god, you guys!" I squeal when I see them in the crowd. I hurry over to Jason, and he kisses my cheek as I scoop the little girl out of his arms.
She looks like she just woke up and promptly buries her face in the crook of my shoulder, ignoring the world around us as I rock her in my arms.
Jason smirks. "She hasn't forgotten you give her candy."
"It doesn't count—there was frosting on my finger. Besides, she's a girl—she needs chocolate."
"She's six months old. She doesn't need anything that doesn't come from Gerber." Jeffery says, leaning over to kiss Jason on the forehead.
I can feel the slight distance other patrons give them, the looks. I wonder how they manage to ignore them. Sydney stirs when she hears her daddy, looking up and jabbering at him. He appropriates the baby from me, and I pout. "It's not fair. She sees you all the time."
He laughs. "You can sit next to her at dinner."
"I'll pass," I say.
"Let me see the dresses," Jason says impatiently. I grin, turning away from Jeff and the baby. I pull up the pictures and hand the phone to him.
The hostess leads us to the table, and I watch the boys fuss over Sydney. It's funny, because she's one of the best babies I've ever seen, silently gumming her pacifier while Jason spreads a mat on the table and Jeffery tucks her into the high chair.
It's sweet, seeing them together with her. For a while, I wasn't sure I ever would. Adopting a baby isn't easy for a gay couple in rural Louisiana.
When they are finally satisfied with their daughter, Jason sits down and grabs my phone again, scrolling through the pictures. He hums appreciatively, and I laugh. "Which one will she pick, sweetie?" he asks, not looking at me.
"The one-shoulder Grecian. It screams AMELIA." The waiter arrives, and I flash him a smile. Poor boy. "Can we get sweet teas all around?"
"And water, no ice." Jason pipes up without looking up. The server grins and hurries away. "Holy shit, Avery. Who is this?"
He's holding my phone up, his eyes wide. He scrolled through the dress pictures and landed on the one I'd snapped of Atticus a few days ago. He's relaxed against the couch, one bare foot propped on his knee. He looks adorable, sexy and rumpled.
"Don't encourage her, Jace." Jeffery groans.
"Is this him? This is her boss?" he asks, and his gaze shoots to me. “Have you slept with him yet?”
I snort, shaking my head and taking my phone back. “No.”
“And she’s not going to,” Jeff adds, fiercely. I give him an amused look, but Jason snorts.
“Honey, if you don’t tap that, I will never speak to you again. I’d prefer you to record the dirty deed.”
“He’s her boss. And he comes with baggage,” Jeff mutters.
“She’s young and he’s hot. It’s pretty simple.” Jason sobers a little, looking at his life partner over the head of the daughter they fought tooth and nail to keep. “Everyone has baggage. Let her decide if it’s worth dealing with.”
Atticus
I pull a polo shirt out of my closet and tug it on over my hair. I’m running late—and if I were meeting anyone but Nik, I’d probably care more.
Probably.
I want to text Avery, tell her I made our reservations at Hotel St Marie. But it doesn’t feel right, not when she’s with Jeff and I’m on my way to meet Nik.
I’m delaying. I force myself to move, locking the apartment and jogging down the stairs to my truck. The wind ruffles my hair as I drive—a drive that doesn’t take nearly long enough.
La Picola Dolce is busy. Not surprising in Branton on a Friday.
The hostess ushers me to the back booth, a little secluded. Nik is sitting, a half-full glass of wine in front of her.
I take a minute to study her. My wife still looks gorgeous—long, curly blonde hair, full pouty lips, bright green eyes—made brighter by contacts—and a body most women have to pay for.
She always was a knockout.
“You’re late, Atticus,” she says, lips pursed in irritation.
I slide into the booth across from her without offering an explanation. I drop the divorce papers on her empty plate. “Sign them.”
Her expression tightens, just a little. "I thought we were going to have a nice dinner."
"We can do that after you sign the papers. Just do it, Nik.” She looks down, and I watch her take a breath. Her expression is genuine when she looks at me. "I'm sorry. I don't know how long you want me to suffer for one mistake, Atti."
I laugh. I can't help it. It's just so typical—me, punishing her. Because, of course she's the victim. Nik could never be anything but the victim. "Your one mistake is pretty hard to overlook, princess." I say lazily.
"It would be easier if you at least tried," she grumbles.
The server approaches, and I give her my order, forcing myself to keep my tone even. Nik orders a plain salad and grilled chicken breast. She still eats like a damn bird.
After the girl leaves to put our order in, I lean forward. "Nik, I found you naked with two men. Both of them were inside you. I don't care how many ways you want to explain that. A married woman doesn't end up in a threesome in th
e middle of the week without some other shit going down."
She flushes—she hates when I talk crudely. Which is hella ironic, given what I heard one of those dicks saying before I shut the door.
"I told you I was bored. You wouldn't listen to me, Atticus."
"You told me you wanted a fucking open marriage. I'm not into sharing, Nik," I snarl, my temper slipping. She sits back, her eyes hooded. "Look, we were young. Everyone said we were too young. It's time to let go."
"So you’re going to prove them all right? That isn't the man I married," she spits.
"The woman I married didn't whore herself out because she was bored," I answer without thinking.
I deserve the slap. I went too far—calling her a whore isn't okay. Mom raised me better than that, even if it’s true.
She's crying. I used to cave every time I saw her cry. It's hard to be a hard ass when a gorgeous girl is crying. But that's not exactly true anymore, and now I just sigh.
"I met someone."
Nik goes very still, her entire body stiff with tension. "You what?"
"I met someone. She's a good girl—a good match for me. I really like her."
"Have you slept with her?" Nik asks nastily, and my temper breaks.
"Sign the papers. Or don't. I'll take you to court, if I have to. But you leave her out of it. Get this through your head: you and I are over. We were over before we got married, and if you'd open your fucking eyes, you'd see it. I'm not coming home."
I stand, toss a few bills on the table to cover my dinner. My appetite is gone, and I can't sit here with Nik.
The air outside is thick with heat and the laughing conversations of waiting patrons. Their happiness grates on my nerves. I want to be anywhere but here.
That's not true. I want to be with Avery.
But that's not possible today. I pull out on the road, ignoring my irate ex-wife in the parking lot.
Chapter 12
Avery
It's late—later than I expect—when I get home. I'm tired, but strangely keyed up. Restless. And I want to see Atticus.
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