Winter Bloom (Dating Season Book 4)

by Laurelin Paige

  I avert my gaze from her nipples, only to land on the thong snuggled between her perfect ass cheeks reflected in the triple mirror. “I think that’s the one.”

  She turns, admiring herself. “Austin will die when he sees this one.”

  One can hope. Oh my God, what a horrible thought that I absolutely do not mean and take back. This has to stop. I close the door to the dressing room.

  “I want something to keep things spicy, ya know?” she says from the other side. “Did you find anything, Charlotte?”

  “This place is way out of my price range, but I’m getting this bra,” Charlotte says from within her dressing room. “Mr. Charlotte-to-be will love my boobs in this. I’m going to send him a picture.”

  “Oh, great idea,” Lucy says. “I’ll send Austin one.”

  This is torture. I deserve nice things too. I may not be able to afford anything in this shop except a one-cup bra, but I can certainly do the poor girls’ game of pretend.

  While they’re occupied with selfies, I hurry out to the display that holds the black lace bra of my dreams. The salesperson unlocks a room for me, and I quickly undress and slip it on. It’s luxurious, and the sheer cups with floral lace give my breasts a spectacular lift. I’ve seen enough influencer tricks on Instagram to know how to pose so Logan can’t really tell I’m in a dressing room.

  I snap a pic of me draped over the leather chair, close up, and send it over.

  Fuck, he replies instantly. Wear that for our date. I need to see it in person.

  Uh-oh. Well, I didn’t see that coming. I have a white one you might like better.

  Nope. That one. It must be that one.

  And that’s how I end up the owner of a hundred-dollar bra. Thank Tattoo Jesus my website payments finally came through. Not that the orders have slowed a bit. I think I’m trending in Boulder. The crick I was developing in my neck from bending over my pottery wheel for so many hours a day meant I actually needed this girls’ day more than I wanted to admit.

  “You don’t want the matching panties?” the sales lady asks me when I place it on the counter.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You sure? It’s a set.” She wraps the delicate material in tissue paper and continues to shame me for daring to split the set. “They look exquisite together.”

  And then because I’ve been shamed, I explain, “I’m on a budget. I’ll just have to make do with Target panties. Or better yet, I will raise the sex appeal and not wear any.” Yes, that’s brilliant. I don’t need panties at all.

  She blinks and rings me up, handing me the cute pink bag with a tight smile. After Lucy and Charlotte make their purchases, we continue our girls’ day jaunt around Twenty Ninth Street and it’s not so bad. Most of the conversation revolves around Charlotte’s wedding...until we pass a jewelry store.

  Lucy stops at the glass window and peers in at the display of sparkling rings. “That’s what I want. God, it’s gorgeous.” She points to an enormous square-cut diamond. “Don’t you love it? If Austin ever asks what kind of ring I want, tell him this one.”

  “You’d need someone to help you carry that around,” Charlotte says.

  Lucy laughs. “That’s what friends are for, right? It’s a burden I’m sure you two can bear.”

  It’s a good thing I’m past all this, or else I’d think the excruciating pain that’s now in my stomach was from knowing they’re headed towards an engagement and not from the bacon-flavored donut I had earlier.

  “Who do you think will be next, Charlotte?” Lucy asks as we head towards the day spa I now intend to downgrade my services in. “Me or Chloe?”

  “You,” I say, wanting this conversation to end.

  She smiles like I’ve just made her day, and it’s not until then that it hits me what she said about the ring—are me and Charlotte her closest friends?

  It’s still haunting me on Friday, but in a subtler way. Not so much of a poltergeist. Maybe because my life is turning around. I’m thinking about other people—I sent Lucy a thank-you mug for the girls’ day. Organized a video-greeting to surprise Charlotte with from everyone who couldn’t make the wedding. And I’ve done extra house-cleaning for Austin, so it’s one less thing he has to stress about when he gets home. He really is working crazy hours lately.

  Maybe because of all that, the universe appears to be taking pity on me. Or perhaps I’m just happy. It’s amazing how well things are going with Logan. Dinner was filled with good food (tapas Charlotte recommended), and good conversation (Logan has discovered new music history for me).

  “I don’t even understand how music could be an Olympic event,” I say, mind still blown, as we head hand in hand down Pearl to meet his friends at a dive bar.

  “Until 1948.”

  “I also don’t understand how it hasn’t been brought back, just to award Beyonce a gold medal.”

  “You should email the committee,” he advises, opening the door for me.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the woman who tried to take me out,” Will greets us.

  “I’ll get you next time,” I say. I can joke about it now. Luckily he can, too, and bursts out laughing.

  “Hi, Chloe,” Belinda says with a giant smile. “Some time, I’ll tell you how we discovered edible body paint isn’t always nut-free.”

  “I mean, I sure was after that,” Will says, still laughing.

  Ian fist-bumps us and the tall, brunette woman beside him introduces herself as Alice.

  Logan orders us beers and we head into the back room for a game of pool.

  “I’m terrible at pool,” Belinda says. “But I’m bad at most physical things in life that require hand-eye coordination.”

  “I’d have to disagree with that,” Will says with a wink.

  “I love pool,” Alice says. “And I’ll always be there to fix your eyeliner, Belinda.”

  “How’s your game, Chloe?” Will asks, chalking his stick. “Should we make a wager?”

  “Probably not,” I say. “Pool isn’t my game either. I’m much more of a Scrabble gal.”

  “You two need to tell yourself you can do it,” Will says to me and Belinda. “Psychologically speaking, your brain believes what you tell it.”

  “Is that why you think you can sing?” Logan asks.

  As I listen to their banter, it’s like being with my own friends. Alice is definitely Lucy. Belinda would be the Chloe for obvious reasons. Will equals Charlotte. It’s sort of funny how there’s a Chloe and a Charlotte and a…oh.

  Uh-oh.

  Logan is the Austin. My gaze slides to him as he lines up his shot with precision. They’re about the same height. Same build. Same hair color. He’s also a musician, he also loves food, and he wears beanies.

  Maybe all friend groups have the same archetypes?

  Surely I’m not dating Fake-Austin.

  Replacement-Austin.

  Austin Lite.

  Surely not.

  The question lingers in my mind for the next hour, until Logan pulls me into him and asks if I’m ready to go. As fun as this is, I’m definitely ready for a little quiet.

  Not wanting to be in Austin’s space, especially after having that horrifying realization, I sort of hint about going back to Logan’s. Luckily, he’s happy to oblige. So off we go and hardly make it through the front door before we’re all over each other. His cologne might have some pheromones in it too, for how fast I want his hands on me.

  I don’t have long to wait. Once he finds out I’m not wearing panties, I’m in for a finger-banging time, right there in the living room. See, Saleslady, I am brilliant.

  After another long kiss, he hoists me up and walks me to his bedroom. He sets me down in the middle of the large room full of dark, masculine furniture. No handcuffs in sight on the king-size bed. Not like Austin at all. Right?

  “Just need to clear off my bed,” he says. “Have a seat and tell me about some of your house prospects.”

  I drop down in the leather chair positioned
by the bay window and pull out my phone. As I read ads for roommates out loud to him, he folds the laundry covering the navy comforter. A few seem like great people, but I can’t afford them, even with my newly booming business. Others seem absolutely batshit.

  “Seeking female roommate. No rent required if current tenant is allowed to wash both laundry and roommate both by hand.”

  His head whips to me. “Get the fuck out. Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” I shake my head and read the next.

  “Wanted: roommate to join epic hype house. Must be dog-friendly, smoke-free, very attractive, and have a minimum of 50k followers on social media. Send headshots for consideration.”

  “They can’t all be that bad. Right?”

  They can be. “Looking for a female roommate who will paint my toes and doesn’t snore.”

  We have a good laugh, but really, what am I going to do? I’ll think about that later, because Logan moves the neat piles of laundry to his dresser and then scoops me up, dropping me on his bed.

  My skirt rises, exposing me.

  “I think you should never wear panties again.”

  He spreads my legs and dives between them, licking a path to heaven. Instead of wondering if he’s pseudo-Austin, I place my legs on his shoulders and let him help me forget anything but this feeling. He’s a master at this, it turns out, licking, sucking, and nibbling until I’m tugging his hair, begging him not to stop. Even his nose gets in on the action. When he inserts two fingers, I come so hard, I see stars.

  And then I return the favor. Our clothes fly off, except the bra; it’s so expensive I have to leave it on to get my money’s worth.

  He cups my breasts, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. “Even better in person.”

  The way he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip is worth the exorbitant price. I push him back on the bed and lick a path up his hard length, circling the tip. He groans and I take him as far down my throat as I can without gagging.

  “Yeah, suck me.” He fists my hair in his hand. “Your mouth sliding down on me is so hot. Look at me.”

  I peer up at him from beneath my lashes, and at this angle, is he Alt-Austin? They really do kind of look alike, minus the eye color. Have I subconsciously blocked out the similarities between them? He closes his eyes, and I look away to focus on my blowjob technique, refusing to believe I have inadvertently started dating an alter-ego of my damn roommate.

  His hips rock and I add my hand to the mix, sucking and stroking, increasing my pace until he’s slamming into my mouth.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, “I’m going to come.”

  He pulls out of my mouth and after two quick pumps with his hand, he releases...all over my bra. It’s okay, though. I’m sure semen won’t stain. It was worth it. It’s fine.

  I remove it, dropping it on the floor, and he kicks back the covers so I can snuggle up next to him. His fingers skim down my back and with my cheek against his chest, I listen to the rapid beat of his heart.

  “I like you in my bed,” he says. “Do you like being in my bed?”

  “It’s very comfortable,” I say. “Did you know mattresses used to rest on ropes?”

  He chuckles. “I did not know this. But I love that you know this.”

  “Yeah.” I block out the fact that sounds just like something Austin would say. “That’s where the phrase ‘sleep tight’ comes from. They tied ropes around the mattress to prevent the bed from sagging.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?”

  I trace a lazy eight on his chest. “Just a quirk I have.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “I think I like you even more now.”

  I like him too. And who cares if he’s similar to Austin? Even if he is, what’s wrong with that? Doesn’t mean I’m trying to substitute him. Does it? No, meeting Logan was a fluke. One of those random things like happenstance. I didn’t seek out another Austin.

  As he drifts off to sleep, I lie awake, listening to his breathing. It’s definitely different from Austin’s. Phew. Totally different. And they definitely don’t kiss the same. Logan’s kiss is like a slow burn that melts you, and Austin’s kiss…his kiss is...I don’t want to think about his kiss.

  I can’t undo it, but I can stop thinking about it and comparing all others to it.

  Keep telling yourself that, Chloe.

  I’m being silly. Life is good. Logan is good. Better than good. He is not Austin. Thoughts of Lucy float into my mind again at the reminder. Thinking back on all the time since she stalked into my life all shiny hair and confidence, I can’t actually remember meeting any of her friends. She clearly wasn’t close to coworkers either, judging from Badass Belinda.

  Is Austin all she has? Did she just wrap herself so far up in him that no one else mattered? I sure know the impulse—especially when it comes to Austin—but I wouldn’t give Charlotte up for any man. And even when I give men up, I don’t want them to disappear. Shit, I just sent Coco a leather bow last week, because her creepy little face will live rent-free in my head forever and I thought Dune would appreciate that.

  Which begs the question, am I just pathologically incapable of letting anything go?

  Is she the one doing it right, unencumbered by anyone she isn’t banging?

  I roll over and stare at the moonlight on the wall. Logan shifts and spoons me, hooking his leg through mine. It feels secure in his embrace, and I enjoy being in his arms. But it isn’t all I want. This was just a great time, one more fun and relaxed evening before my life is consumed by the dual overwhelm of wedding and packing. Not that I even know where I’ll go yet.

  But my friends will be there no matter what.

  Finally, my eyes drift shut, and I dream of clowns and trying to shove Austin’s black knit beanie on Logan’s head.

  Nine

  The wedding, as predicted, took over my life. A blur of fittings, tastings, and last-minute opinion-giving on today’s celebration has dominated the last few weeks. So much so, Austin called the management company and pushed back the lease signing. For that, I’m grateful, because I’ve spent all of my free time with Charlotte, enjoying every moment I have left with her. Sounds dramatic, but what if things change once the wedding band is in place on her finger?

  Marriage, like moving or death, is a life-changing event. And there’s always the possibility our friendship will wane once Charlotte starts her new life as a wife. Which is today. I sniffle and wipe my eyes as Austin parks beside my car in the guest lot at Pastures of Plenty. He exits his vehicle, long legs and strong shoulders both clad in black, and I grab my bag from the back seat, willing myself not to ogle him.

  “You could’ve ridden with me,” he says, slipping his keys in the pocket of his suit pants and taking things from my hands to carry for me. One being my purse, which only endears him to me more. I take it back from him, because I don’t want to think it’s adorable.

  “I know,” I say. “I just think it’s better we came separately, in case there’s any unforeseen problems.”

  Translation: It’s best I’m not in confined spaces with you.

  Not till I figure out why you keep showing up in my dreams, even if I haven’t thought about you all day.

  He nods, and we trek toward a pathway leading to the main property. At Charlotte’s request, Austin and I arrived at Pastures of Plenty early to help make sure everything is perfect. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, because if perfection exists, Charlotte found it in this place. The picturesque farm-to-table venue, set amidst mountains and mesas, is magnificent. Even the snow looks artful. If I were to Pin the Prettiest Places for a Picturesque & Peaceful Ceremony, this would be tops on the list.

  “This is gorgeous,” I say as we stroll to break the silence between us.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Hopefully the food is excellent too.”

  I keep my gaze trained on the scenic property, sprinkled with antique furniture and decorations, rather than the dashing silhouette of Austin in a black suit and red
tie. No sense in tempting my eyes.

  “I’m sure it won’t be as good as yours. At least you get to have fun instead of being sequestered in the kitchen. That’ll make Charlotte happy and stress-free.”

  He pauses by a towering cottonwood tree, bare of leaves, on the bank of a bubbling creek, forcing me to glance up at him. “Listen, you’ve got one job, Chloe,” he says. “Keep Charlotte calm until the wedding.”

  “Yes, I know. You’ve reminded me a million times. She’s fine,” I assure him, admiring the natural beauty surrounding us instead of him. I can only imagine what this place will look like in spring.

  “Exactly,” he mumbles. “She’s too calm.”

  “Well, now, you’re making me nervous.”

  “Sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair, leaving it looking as amazing as before he touched it. “I think I’m more stressed than she is.”

  “Why?” I sling my dress bag over my shoulder.

  “Life,” is his brusque answer. Sheesh.

  And that’s the end of that discussion, because he resumes walking, powering forward at a brisk pace until we reach a faded wooden sign scrawled with the word wedding, pointing us in the direction of a sprawling farmhouse-style building.

  We climb the steps, and Austin opens the door for me. Inside, a flurry of activity takes place in the airy space. People dressed in white shirts and khaki slacks hustle about, darting in and out of rooms with their arms full of wedding decor. When we locate Charlotte, the mothers have it all in hand. Charlotte gives us a quick tour and then Austin, of course, wanders off to poke around the kitchen and supervise the in-house caterers.

  “Why don’t you and Charlotte head to the bridal cottage,” Other Mother suggests. “We’ll be there soon. Just need to make sure the tarot card reader gets here and sets up in the reception tent.”