I blink twice, how does he know where we were?
“It isn’t in your nature to put the past aside,” he implies—the words leaving a bad taste in my mouth. “We can carry it together while you let me take care of you, like any other grandfather would do for the grandchildren he loves.”
A knock on the door brings my mind back to the present, away from the memories of my parents leaving us behind—the days when I had no idea why they had to leave us alone with strangers. My bed only a house away from me, yet, I slept uncomfortably on a couch with my sister in a house filled with too many children and too little personal space. Would it have been different if I had come to my grandfather’s house instead?
He’s always lived in the penthouse on Park Avenue. All the rooms are spacious and empty.
“Ready to go, Low?”
My spine stiffens at the sound of that nickname. The same nickname my ex-boyfriend, the cheater—who liked going from vagina to vagina without thinking about me—used to call me.
“The name is Willow.” I turn to Hunter, shaking my head and the questions bombarding my brain.
“She doesn’t like that nickname,” my grandfather prompts, and I nod because it’s true, only Hazel is allowed to call me Wills. I turn to look at Grandpa one more time. This entire conversation has been bizarre, surprising, and has me shaking with rage. I can’t crash now. I need a few more days to feel alive. At least until after my audition.
“My apologies, Willow.” I turn my head, catching the big smile that barely disappears from Hunter’s handsome face. “Shall we go?”
“Only old people use shall, young man,” Grandpa jokes, and I gape. His attitude is freaking me out in so many ways I can’t handle it. “Will you be going to the event on Saturday, Hunter?”
Hunter nods, taking my hand, kissing it, and then entwining his fingers with mine. “Of course, will we see you there?”
I feel lost, not understanding what event they are talking about. This emotion of being pushed aside is intensifying my rage. Don’t get upset, Willow.
“Maybe,” my grandfather answers. “Willow, don’t forget what I told you.”
I won’t, but I pray I do. He seems as sad as I am sometimes, lonely and devastated. Why have I never noticed before? Am I shallow or too selfish to think about him? My mother’s rants are a big factor, too.
Any another time, I’d left without a second thought. Knowing life isn’t as easy for him as I thought, I march to him and squeeze his hand. “Thank you for the benefits.”
Ten
Beware of the friend-zone
If the sexual tension diminishes, you’re about to be sent to the corner of the friend zone. Fuck before it’s too late. ~ Harrison Everhart.
I finish the drink I’ve been carrying from the smoothie shop. Drinking my dinner was the only meal we could agree on sharing together. Tossing the paper cup, it hits the side of the trash can before bouncing onto the pavement. Willow chuckles, fidgeting with her lower lip as I serve her with a pretend annoyed glare.
“Why do men pretend trash cans are basketball hoops?”
“My brothers and I go to the court at least once a week to shoot baskets,” I explain why I do it, not the reason for the rest of the male population. Do we really do that? Who cares, it’s fun.
Picking up the littered cup, I deposit it where it belongs and look at her. “Dinner is over, are you ready to talk about what happened?”
Tonight, I’d kill for a big, thick steak with a side of fries. Unless, she is ready for sex, or at the very least, some fooling around. We continue, slowly forging a relationship. Fuck, I’d say this woman is only interested in hanging out with me, avoiding the next step. In the meantime, my hands are having a torrid orgy with my dick and balls during my showers.
“During the day? I told you most of it.” She evades my question with a trivial answer. “The UPS guy winked at me, did I tell you? Next week he might ask me out.”
“Is that so?” I study her while she looks around the park.
Staring at her full lips, I stride toward her. Lifting my hand I comb her long, glossy hair setting it to the side. Bending closer, I place my lips on her neck, brushing them over her soft skin and finding her mouth where I pause. My eyes find hers, they shine with a light I haven’t seen before. Maybe it’s just lust—or maybe she wants me as much as I want her.
Fuck, I want to take her home. Damn, the fucking steak making my mouth water only seconds ago is a thing of the past. This is it, the moment I push back because up until now, she’s been pushing me to the friend zone. It isn’t the place I want to be, not with her. I want to tear her clothes off and drag my mouth over every corner of her smooth skin—biting her tits, licking her entrance, and making her come as many times as possible in one night.
“He wants to show me he’s a good grandfather,” Willow confesses, taking a step backward.
I keep falling for her even when she pushes me closer to the friend zone, and move further away from where I desire to be, inside of her.
“Sounds like you don’t believe him.”
“It’s complicated.”
The conversation circles to her parents’ abandonment.
“I begged them not to go. Mom said she couldn’t be with me.” Her eyes become watery, her chin quivers. “They would leave us with the neighbors. Karina McFee and her family of five children. It was a scary place, at least to me. Everything was too loud. It became scarier when they decided I was old enough to stay alone in our house with Hazel.”
The woman speaks, but I picture a small girl’s shaking body agonizing for her bed and toys. She’s missing her mom and dad. Most of all, she’s trying to be brave for her little sister. As she continues describing the years of turmoil, it becomes clear her mother isn’t fond of Grant Beesley. The man Willow depicts is nothing like the one I’ve known for years. I’m confused by the entire situation between her and Grant. But mostly about her parents. Most of the missionaries I’ve come across take their children with them. Why leave Willow and Hazel behind?
“I left right after graduation in hopes of a different life.” Tears pool in her eyes. “And Hazel . . .”
Closing her eyes, she takes a few breaths. “I had to leave her behind. But, she had Elliot, I told myself as I boarded the plane.”
The name catches my attention. That’s the name of Hazel’s ex-husband. I wish I knew the entire story. Willow stares at her fingers, then, she looks up at me. “I think he was in love with her from the moment he first saw her. It was only when they broke up that I learned they married when she turned eighteen.”
“It was my fault that she left California.” She looks down, her shoulders dropping. I squeeze her hand reassuringly. Her shaky voice is tearing my insides. “Maybe if she had stayed she’d be happy with Elliot.”
“Somedays I think it was my fault that my parents started traveling. Maybe something I did,” she says with a miserable look on her face.
My throat closes as she continues telling me about all the things that she feels happened because of her. For some inexplicable reason, the weight of the world lies on her shoulders. Even when she’s not making sense, I hold her tightly, letting her use me as support. At least, I hope that’s what she’s doing.
“Sorry.” She wipes her tears. I pull out a handkerchief from my pocket and pat her face lightly, wishing they were kisses instead.
Yes, kiss her. No, she’s too vulnerable. Do it, Hunter. If you don’t push back now, you’ll never leave the freaking friend zone. I bring my hand up to cup her cheek, resisting her is futile. I have to touch her silky skin. I must walk away from the friend zone.
“You carry unnecessary baggage. Have you ever considered sharing the load?” Her clear, green eyes widen when I wrap both hands around her back, pressing her closer to me. The hitch of her breath tightens my chest. I have the mad urge to kiss her hard, a kiss so deep her pain will disappear forever. Not yet, Hunter, wait for the signal. “I get it, your parents let you down
. Being alone is all you know. Stop avoiding and pushing away those who are trying to help you.”
Honestly, I am not quite sure why I’m pushing to take the next step now. Other than, at the moment, the unnamed feeling she created when we met grows bigger—and my dick is throbbing against the zipper of my pants. Smooth, Hunter. You’re a class act, your mother would be ashamed of you. There, nothing like thinking about my mom watching me from heaven to control my body.
“We could go on with this dance for years. I take three steps forward, you take one to the right and four backward. The music changes depending on who is leading, most of the time you want to be the lead. This isn’t about sex. Although, I can’t tell you what I’d give to have you spread out in my bed underneath me so I could be deep inside you.”
“Hunter.” She gapes, letting out a soft whimper.
“Yes?” I ask hesitantly, afraid of what she’ll say next. I want to go to my house, walk her to my room, and push her against the wall. Her legs and arms twined around me. Pressing kisses to her mouth, her throat, her breasts. Slide my hands under her shirt, run them up and down her smooth skin. Promise her again and again I won’t leave her. I’m not like them.
“Sorry. I don’t think I’m ready for all this.” She closes her eyes, sighing. “There’s so much going on with me—I can’t fathom the thought of letting you down.”
“You wouldn’t, Willow.”
“Trust me, I always do.”
I open my mouth to argue, but my phone starts ringing. Fuck, Harrison. I let it go to voicemail. If it’s urgent, he’ll text. If not, he’ll wait until I call him back. My phone buzzes. Fuck. He’ll have to wait.
“How about a movie?” She steps away from my embrace, hugging herself.
I take off my jacket to cover her shoulders with it and place a kiss on the side of her neck. “Whatever you need, Willow. From now on, your happiness is my mission.”
Just be aware I’m not going back to the corner you’re trying to cage me into.
Eleven
Tired of Trying
I wish they only take me as I am. ~ Vincent Van Gogh
“See that one?” Harrison is the epitome of inappropriate, cynic, and funny. His clear eyes dance as he continues analyzing the woman. The people around us wouldn’t know that the impressively handsome man, sporting an expensive tuxedo, with his light brown hair slicked back, is mocking people at the gala searching for a good lay or the next rich guy to buy them an expensive Jaguar or pay their rent. “She bought a dress two sizes too small, hoping to catch the eye of a wealthy man.”
He looks around, and I follow his gaze, appreciating the beautifully dressed people in the room. Many of them are holding champagne flutes and smiling at each other, while others speak. Groups here and there sharing stories. Hunter takes the empty glass I’ve been nursing for the past twenty minutes, swapping it for a fresh one. Fitz takes an entire tray of canapés, and Hazel hands it back to the waiter, giving Fitz a severe glance. Scott has one hand inside his slacks pocket and the other one scrolls through the screen of his phone. The five of them are in synchronicity. While I feel like an outsider intruding.
Why have I agreed to come?
“Come with me,” Hunter insisted.
“Yes, please, Wills.” Hazel batted those eyelashes, giving me her best, please, do it for me face.
So here I am, trying to catch up on with what I’ve missed for the past several years. Why didn’t I hang out with Hazel more often? She had school, I had work, but we met for breakfast on Sunday mornings.
“Him.” Harrison’s gaze stops as he points at a paunchy, bald guy at the other end of the ballroom. “He’s the perfect candidate.”
Hazel rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “What do you know about him?”
“That’s Winston Carter-Nicholson, the Fourth,” Harrison responds.
Scott sneaks a glance. “I say no, she goes for a fit man.”
“Those are harder to catch. They can smell she’s searching for a husband.” Fitz pretends to sniff the air around him.
“Do you want to take the bet of who she goes home with?” Fitz pulls out his wallet, handing a twenty to my sister. Scott does the same. Harrison and Hunter smile at each other.
“The weight of his wallet matters more than his physical attributes.” Harrison agrees with Hunter’s statement, and each one pulls out a fifty-dollar bill.
“Are you playing?” I question my sister not understanding this game.
“Hazel doesn’t like to play. She’s the referee,” Fitz clarifies.
I look at her, surprised by her participation. She rolls her eyes, grinning. “What can I say? I get half of the loot no matter who wins.” Laughing she turns around. “I’m checking on Gramps.”
“Willow, in this life you have two options, worry about everything or finding the funny side in it.” Harrison gives me a serious stare. “You’re judging this game. What you don’t know is that for years, we’ve had women trying to trap us because of our money. Are we jaded?” He waves his hand back and forth as if to say more or less. “We find it entertaining.”
“It’s a way to channel our anger,” Scott continues. “We’ve been approached by them several times.”
“Is that why you’re all single?” I snap, looking at the three of them. Maybe stepping out of my role as the . . . am I here with my grandfather like Hazel, or Hunter’s date? “Because you believe everyone is with you for your money?”
“It’s fair to assume . . . you just met us.” Harrison’s voice is cautious.
“Want to dance?” Hunter suggests, leading me over to the middle of the room where the other couples waltz to the orchestra playing.
Blending into the sea of people, I focus on the music and the feel of his strong arms he’s slipped around my waist, pulling me to him.
“I know you’re with me because I’m persistent,” he says softly into my ear. His voice and breath make every cell in my body shiver.
“I wasn’t . . .” I cast my eyes down, holding in the lie.
He raises his hand, setting it under my chin and lifting it so our eyes meet. “Sometimes, you have to let emotions leave your heart. Laugh it all off, or it’ll consume you.”
I chuckle. He’s asking the impossible from me. My emotions run too deep and too high. Understanding them is as easy as trying to understand Einstein’s theories. Masking them far simpler. I just have to create a character and ride the wave until everyone is gone—or I push them away.
“What’s your position on PDA?”
Before I react, he cups my chin with one hand, pressing me closer to him with the other, and taking my mouth. I sigh as a surge of lust travels through my body. Resisting him is becoming harder as the days pass. Our mouths are now familiar with each other. I open for him as his tongue licks along the seam, and my mouth releases a low moan. My hands reach for his neck, and my fingers tangle in his silky hair. His kisses are everything I imagine sex between us would be—his tongue stroking against my skin, his teeth nibbling, and his lips caressing me as they slide over my body. He’d savor every inch of me.
This isn’t just a kiss, it’s gone from a flame to a blazing fire. His fingers dig deeper into my hips, and I can feel his hard, growing cock pushing against my belly. My body shakes with pleasure as I picture his thick length pressing against my wet pussy, ready to take me.
“Willow.” His lips slide from mine to my ear. His gruff voice resonating all the way to my toes, leaving me feeling like I’m about to explode. “What are you doing to me?”
Resting my head on his chest, I close my eyes, letting the fire burning on my skin die. “I want to run. You’re going to hurt me.”
“Never,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. “Trust me, at least tonight don’t overthink it.”
I let him lead on the dance floor, his hand caresses my back with soothing movements. The noise usually affects me, but not tonight. I feel safe in his arms. The urge of giving him everything continues. My core c
lenches as the heat of his body soaks into mine, breathing in his musk that slides like a wave of desire through me. I need some release. My heart is racing too fast, and I’m losing control.
“Relax, baby, what do you need me to do for you?”
Don’t let me go?
“I’m okay,” I lie.
For a few more songs, I pretend it’s just the two of us. His protective arms bat away the outsiders. My head quiets down. Not many emotions linger. I wish that I could keep this moment forever. Unfortunately, the music stops, and a female voice comes through the speakers, reminding us that dinner is about to be served.
“If it’s just for fun, I know a couple of guys.” Harrison takes a bite of his juicy steak, pointing his fork at my sister. “Live a little. Not everything is business and school.”
My sister twists her lips, takes a sip of her wine, and looks at my grandfather. Ah, that’s what’s stopping her smart mouth from putting him in his place.
“Pimping your stallions, again, Everhart?”
He grins, nodding once. “Yeah, I have quite the catalog to take care of your problem.”
“I have a problem?”
“I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation for the table.” I stop them before things get out of hand. My sister is working hard to keep her smarminess in check.
“There’s nothing inappropriate about this conversation,” Hazel corrects me. “He’s trying to find me a suitable stallion to marry and procreate with, right?”
“No, just a good lay,” Harrison retorts, and my grandfather starts choking.
“I agree with Willow. There’s a time and a place for those conversations,” my grandfather says, recovering his breath.
“It’s better than the time he tried to teach me how to masturbate—during a similar event.” Hazel finishes her wine, setting her glass next to Fitz, who tops it off. “I recall you had quite a group listening to your entertaining conversation.”
Flawed Page 8