“I have a hotel room just down the street…how about a nightcap?” I ask.
Narrator: nightcap is absolutely code for sex.
Five
“No, thank you. I don’t wear them,” is not the response I expected from Logan.
It takes a minute to get the joke and realize he didn’t think I was offering a nightcap for his gorgeous head. “Did you just quote Naked Gun?”
His brow arches. “Did you just get my quote?”
“I did.”
He steps closer and lowers his voice to a husky sex-type tone that makes my nipples strain against my bra. “Are you propositioning me?”
“I am.”
He smirks. “I’m yours for the night.”
“Okay, give me five minutes.”
I’m still a beginner at being bold and didn’t think through my invitation. If you’re going to invite a man to your hotel room for sex, it’s important to actually have a hotel room. Bold Chloe is a liar, that was an unanticipated twist in my story.
No worries. That’s why they invented the map app on my phone. Somewhere in the distance, I hear Lucy’s giggle. There’s not a lot of time to dash from here, so I up my boldness another notch and confess. “I don’t really have a hotel room. I…just wasn’t ready to say good night to you.”
One side of his lips tilts up. “That’s very bold of you.”
“I thought so.”
“Hold, please.”
He taps away on his phone and minutes later, grins. “Now you’ve got a hotel room to invite me to.”
“How did you do that so fast?”
“The band and I stay at a place a couple of blocks over from here. It’s next to the Hard Rock Cafe.”
From my peripheral, I spot Lucy headed our way and I can’t pay any more restitution tonight. I’m bankrupt.
“Let’s go.” I take Logan’s hand in mine and dart across the mezzanine and out of the building into the frigid night. “My car is this way.”
We hurry across the parking lot until we reach my Honda.
“Why didn’t you Uber down here with your friends?”
It’s a long and convoluted story about how I didn’t want to be in a confined space with Austin and Lucy, so I condense and downplay it. “Fifth wheel syndrome. That’s why I only had a few drinks. Because I drove.”
“Ah. Been there,” he says. “I’m the lone single man in my friends’ group and sometimes it’s excruciating.”
It’s surprising to me that someone like him would feel that way. He seems too confident and awesome to care if he’s a tag-along. Bonus points for being a kindred spirit.
Within a few minutes, we’re on our way, and I feel the tension easing from my shoulders. Once I park near the hotel, I shoot a text to Charlotte saying I’m staying the night with Logan. Tomorrow, I’ll explain further why I disappeared. No sense in dredging up all the kissy drama on her night of fun, right? She doesn’t reply, and I slip my phone in my handbag as Logan exits the car.
We walk toward the hotel, hand in hand. Under the twenty-foot neon guitar of Hard Rock Cafe, Logan stops.
“Quick detour,” he says, opening the door to the Rock Shop.
The store is empty since it’s near midnight and almost closing time.
An employee approaches as we step inside. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, looking for drumsticks.”
He directs Logan toward the back of the store where he beelines to a display of drumsticks and picks up a pair with red flames.
“Want anything?”
“Just you,” I say.
“Good answer,” he says.
I smile, because I agree with his statement. Look at Bold Chloe thinking of something sexy on the fly. Comas are a thing of the past.
He makes his purchase and then we hustle to the hotel.
“Oh, this is fancy,” I say beneath a sparkling chandelier inside the spacious lobby filled with abundant leather seating and gold carpets. Now I feel guilty he secured such a nice place when I was the one who put the invitation out.
“Did you think I’d spend the night with you in a dive?”
“You have to let me pay for my part.”
“Not a chance.”
We could go back and forth about this, but paying seems important to him so I’ll make sure I do my best soft-core impression for my half. Then both of us can have the romance. We head to the counter and within minutes, have our room key. Of course, the moment the elevator doors open, I get nervous. What if our comfort levels have transcended our chemistry? On the other hand (I really do need more hands) what if our chemistry becomes so explosive that I lose the comfort, and get nervous, and get weird? It’s happened before.
He pushes the button. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Second thoughts?”
“Just the normal thoughts,” I admit. I’m always prone to spiraling. “But no, I’m good.”
The doors slide close, and as soon as we’re alone inside, Logan tugs me closer. “Let me see how wet I can make you in two minutes.”
It only takes a few seconds once his lips meet mine. I’m sure there are cameras getting a splendid view of me clinging to him as his tongue dips inside my mouth, but I don’t care. His kiss is intoxicating and makes me forget all about my previous Fun Affairs.
The elevator stops, and his hand slips inside my panties. “Soaked.”
He sucks his finger as the doors slide open, and then I become bolder by taking his hand and sliding the same finger into my mouth.
“Damn,” he murmurs.
We leave the elevator in a rush and all but run to our room near the end of the corridor. Logan jams the key in the slot, and the instant the door shuts behind us, he pins me against it, devouring my mouth again. There’s no time to even take in the room as we pant and moan, discarding clothing on our way to the bed.
When the backs of my knees meet the edge of the mattress, I pull away to trail kisses over the carved pecs on his chest as he stands above me, and lick my way down his stomach to the etched abs and V above his black boxers.
He groans and we fall back on the bed in a tangle of limbs, losing the last of our clothes.
“Hold on,” he says, rising and walking naked over to where he tossed his Rock Shop bag when we burst in the room in a frenzy of lips.
He removes the drumsticks and discards the plastic wrap. Not really sure if this is the right moment to play a song, but I’ll go with it. Except, instead of banging them on the table, he walks back over to me, impressive cock jutting forward, and trails the tip of a drumstick around my nipple.
The bed dips beneath his weight as he climbs on and hovers over me. “This might seem strange”—oh no—“but I want to christen these sticks with you.”
Hm. That doesn’t register so I ask, “Christen how?”
“Well, on our way here, I knew I wanted you to remember tonight.” He drifts the stick across my other nipple, stiffening it. “I bought these so I could put them all over your sexy fucking body—put them in you—and then every time I play with them, it’ll be your song.”
I swallow, mesmerized by the look in his hooded blue eyes as he explores further down my stomach. “I’ll be thinking about how you look right now. All flushed.” He dips the stick between my legs, sliding the wood between my pussy lips, gently. “And wet.”
Never in a million years would I think my body would react to what he’s doing, but it is. My heart beats faster in a taboo tempo as he teases my opening with the stick and then presses it inside. I might be a kinky freak, but it’s so hot.
He stares down at his hand between my legs. “That’s so damn sexy.”
I wrap my hand around his thickness, stroking until he hisses and tosses the drumstick beside me. “Never thought I’d be fucking jealous of a drumstick. I need to be inside you.”
Once the condom is rolled on his length, he braces himself over me and thrusts in with a long moan.
“Shit.” He stills. “Your
pussy is so hot.”
We don’t hang from the ceiling or tie each other up. It’s just straight fucking on a bed, but somehow it still seems kinky. And feels fantastic. There’s a lot to be said for regular sex, when you’re comfortable. I don’t feel the need to brace for pain or wonder what’s coming next. I don’t worry I’m not exciting enough, or too bacon-esque. I can just feel. And enjoy.
The muscles in his arms quiver as I hold on to them, raising my hips to meet his quick thrusts. He slides in and out, watching our bodies join, and then he pulls out.
“I want to fuck you from behind.” He flips me over, and I brace against the headboard as he fills me, pumping faster.
“Harder,” I say, relishing in my boldness.
He thwacks me on the ass with the drumstick, and I take back what I said about unexpected pain. It’s okay, though. My ass is his personal drum and I’m into it. It’s like he’s playing a love song on my bottom. I’ll admit, the fact he’s a drummer is ramping things up for me. The allure of him being a musician is creating an earthquake-sized orgasm within me, probably because he fucks with as much intensity as he plays a set. I’m living the groupie dream. The pleasure builds, swells, and expands like music notes, threatening to split me in half, as we find the perfect rhythm.
“I’m going to come,” I pant out.
“God, yes. Come all over me,” he husks.
The tingling starts in my toes and spreads through my body as he pumps faster, reaching in to circle my clit. His grunts and groans send me over the edge and I come in a crescendo of body-wrecking spasms.
“Fuck,” he mutters before driving into me and releasing his own orgasm with a powerful shudder that racks his body.
When the tremors subside, he kisses my shoulder blade, and I collapse on the mattress, satisfied beyond words.
He discards the condom and drops down beside me. “How about room service?”
“You always know just what to say.”
While we wait for late-night breakfast, everything feels right. We chat again, picking up where we left off at the speakeasy. Food we love turns into movies we like turns into making plans. A musician friend he hasn’t seen in a while lives here in Denver and they’re going to meet up tomorrow. Logan invites me along.
“Sorry, I can’t.” I move over to the sofa and tuck my legs beneath me, watching the way his hands move as he drums his fingers on the bedstead. “I have a birthday party at work, so I’ll have to leave early.”
Our food arrives, and as we eat, we talk about Charlotte’s party.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t get to see you do karaoke. That will go down as one of my life’s regrets.” Apparently the rumors of my backup dancing have been greatly exaggerated into some sort of legendary concert. He looks so disappointed; I stand from the table and swipe the ketchup bottle.
“This one goes out to Logan,” I tell the wall behind him.
I do the brave, brave, ketchup-bottle-mic acapella Blondie “Heart of Glass” song that I never knew I could do. I sound like I’m full of helium but it’s cute and fun at the same time.
Okay, so I’m a little tipsy from the minis we drank from the bar in the room, but still! We’re giggling and I feel like he really likes me for me. And I’m liking me, too. I don’t feel like a bad person anymore. Just a normal person, who made a mistake, and wants to do better. It is a level up.
After I belt out the last note, he leans back in his chair and slowly claps. “That was amazing. Can I have your autograph?”
“Of course.” I saunter over and sign my name on his chest with my tongue like a rockstar.
We move to the bed and pass the hours talking. He asks about my business and I tell him about my plans for expanding Mae’d With Love. I’ve found a couple local stores who will sell my stuff on consignment, and I’m making some steady sales on Etsy. The new website is icing.
“I’m impressed,” he says. “You’re the sexiest business lady I know.”
I preen like a peacock under his sleepy stare. I am a business lady. A leveled-up business lady. A leveled-up business lady who is going to be late for her shift teaching children because when I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, he falls asleep and when I pick up my phone to set an alarm to cuddle with him, I realize the sun is now up and zounds! There is no cuddle time left! And I have to flee, stuffing the last couple slices of room service bacon in my mouth as I go.
What. A. Night.
Six
Somewhere on Highway 93 it occurs to me that my Cinderella escape might just make me look like an asshole. Pretty sure it does, actually, and I can’t believe I ran out like that. He looked so peaceful and...okay, I panicked, if I’m telling the truth. Say what you will about my shambles of a love life, I’m a stellar employee and don’t want to ruin my pristine record. I’ve never been late or missed work since they hired me. Still, how rude of me to run out stuffing bacon in my mouth. I send some voice-to-texts apologizing.
“Good morning. I’m so sorry for running out. I’m not an asshole. I hope you believe me. I need to run home and get my uniform shirt. I’m having a case of the Mondays and it’s only Saturday. Ha.” Now I feel awkward because I said “ha” instead of laughing so I ramble on, “Thank you for the orgasm and everything else.” Probably shouldn’t just focus on the sex because that makes me look like a bigger asshole. “You’re a great guy and I’d like to see you again.” Mid-sentence, my phone dies.
Of course, I have no charger, because not only am I bold, I’m forgetful. Saturday traffic also punishes me for my impromptu overnight stay. A snarl of cars backed up on the highway eats away the time, and I watch the minutes tick away on the clock. When the jam clears, there’s zero time to run home for a shower, so I have no choice but to arrive at work wearing the same clothes from last night.
The dress that was perfect last night, is a little too tight and a little too short for a kid’s birthday pottery party, but it’ll have to do because I have only minutes to spare.
“Good morning,” I say to Anna on my way to the employee bathroom.
“Morning,” she says. “I have everything set up for the party. Mildred from Something Borrowed stopped by looking for you.”
“Really? You’re an angel. Thank you,” I call over my shoulder and rush into the bathroom to salvage my appearance.
Wildebeest is the word that comes to mind when I see myself in the mirror. As I finger comb my frazzled hair, I see there’s some wine on my sleeve. Lovely. I scrounge in my purse for concealer to hide the dark shadows beneath my eyes. I’m not normally the prepared-for-everything type of girl to carry an assortment of makeup in my bag, and now I wish I were. It would be preferable to my current devolution into a swamp creature. Bathroom air freshener is not really a great substitute for deodorant and perfume, but what can I do?
Over the next few hours, I keep a smile pasted on my face while we celebrate Cassandra’s birthday by making ceramic cupcakes. The kids are too loud and I’m too tired and there’s a minor clay fight, and it sucks.
When the last little person leaves and my shift ends, I head to Something Borrowed.
“Hi, Chloe,” Mildred says, standing next to a display of bookmarks when I enter the store. “Rough night?”
“Yeah, sort of,” I hedge.
“That wild biker, huh?” She clicks her tongue.
“No. Dune and I broke up.”
“Can’t say I’m shocked. I knew you were a smart girl and would realize a hot man isn’t always the right man. Sometimes we waste too much time on the wrong one, so I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” My shoulders droop, because wasting time on the wrong guy is actually my specialty. “Anna said you stopped by earlier looking for me.”
“Oh, right. I was having coffee with your boss and Kate told me about the pottery line you make on the side.” She crosses to the door and flips the sign to closed. “It got me thinking. I need to expand a little. What do you say about making me some mugs to se
ll with the books?”
“Really?” I’d squeal if I had more energy. “I’d love to do that. I could put tea bags in them and maybe paint a catchy phrase like... ‘reading is tea-riffic.’” That’s probably not my most creative idea, but I’m running on no sleep. Another reason to kick myself.
She stares at me and then nods. “We’ll work on that. I’ll start with a small quantity and see how it goes. I think it’s good us small businesses help each other out.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“I know you girls send people my way all the time and give me a lot of sales, so just doing my part.” We talk more about possibilities and I agree to make a few samples for her.
“None of that happily-ever-after stuff,” she says. “I don’t think people really believe in that.”
I tilt my head, surprised at her view. “Well, isn’t that why we read books?”
“Not me.” She moves behind the counter, opening the till to take out money. “I read it for the journey, to see how they evolve, and of course, for the sex. No one is happy forever. They’re just not.”
“You’re an interesting character, Mildred.”
“Honey, the things I could tell you.”
And she proceeds to. Mildred blows my mind with her tales of love and different men she’s dated. She’s earned the gray hair on her head. What sticks with me, though, is that she’s alone now. She never married. It almost feels like I’m looking at my future self if I don’t get it together. Not that anything is wrong with being alone, but she seems jaded, and I don’t want to be jaded. I’d like to believe there’s happiness ever after. I’ll even take a happy-for-now.
Before I leave, I give her my email address and phone number so we can connect about any further ideas. And then I invite her to have lunch sometime, because I don’t want her to be alone.
I’m in a full-on zombie state by the time I drive home, dreaming of the gummy I’m going to take before raiding the fridge and going to bed with the sun to have a better day tomorrow. One where I’m the epitome of a professional adult.
Winter Bloom (Dating Season Book 4) Page 4