by Taryn Quinn
All over my hands.
“You okay in there?” Sage called.
“Fine.” I cleaned up and braced my palms on the edge of the sink.
Now what? I didn’t have the foggiest.
Me, the guy who never faltered.
Ever.
I had no freaking clue what to say or do next. The last thing I wanted to do was mar this experience for Sage, and discussing broken condoms was basically a recipe for such.
Her footsteps were padding toward me, making that decision imminent.
She appeared outside the doorway, still gloriously naked, her lush body covered with a few marks from my lips and hands and growing-in beard. They only added to her allure.
I wanted to tell her how much I appreciated that she’d shared herself with me. How much this morning had meant to me.
Instead, I shut the door in her face.
9
Sage
I stared at the closed door and rubbed my miraculously only slightly throbbing head. My hangover was almost nonexistent.
My sexover though? Huge.
Oliver did not come out.
To even my surprise, I didn’t panic or begin to accuse myself of being a bad lay. Screw that. I had been a damn awesome lay. Especially since it was all brand new.
He’d nearly broken me in half when he came. If that was crappy sex, well, sign me up for some of that every day for the rest of my life.
Nope, something else was at play here, and I had a good guess what it was.
Mr. Commitment-phobe was getting freaked out.
I shifted on my feet and winced at the soreness between my thighs, both from the sex itself and his scruff on my sensitive skin. That same sensation prickled over my breasts and neck.
So many reactions all hitting me at once. So many more things I wanted to explore.
I wasn’t a virgin anymore. But I wasn’t going to insult myself and think about how now I was a woman, because fudge that, I’d always been a woman. I just hadn’t had sex before.
Mission finally accomplished. Yet here I was, waiting for him to man up and face me.
Amused, I leaned a shoulder against the door. “Oliver, Oliver, come out wherever you are.” Wuss, I added under my breath.
He didn’t reply right away. For the briefest instant, old, familiar fears tried to raise their annoying little heads.
Maybe he decided virgins were too much work.
Maybe he’s afraid you’re going to cry and be emotional.
Maybe he doesn’t know how to tell you he was a one-and-done.
And not performance-wise either. But he didn’t need to tell me that. I’ve lived in Crescent Cove all my life. He’s a serial monogamist, emphasis on serial. It’s not as if I expected him to spoon afterward.
It might be nice, but whatever. We were in Vegas. I had things to do. I wanted to go to the Elvis chapel, for Pete’s sake. Oliver’s issues with intimacy so did not fit into my timetable for the day.
And you know what? I was going to tell him that. No more shrinking violet for me.
Empowered, devirginized Sage, reporting for duty.
I lifted my hand to knock on the door, and it swung open. Before I could tell him I was about to get dressed and go see Elvis, he clamped his arm under my ass and swept me off my feet. His mouth closed over mine and I forgot I was supposed to be pissed. Pretty sure I forgot everything except the pressure of his lips, teasing mine apart.
He carted me back to the bed and sat down with me on his lap, sensually stroking his hand over my hair. He wasn’t even winded. With him, I felt petite and feminine and…happy. At least when he wasn’t pissing me off, and right now, we were good.
So good.
I cupped his scruffy jaw, drawing my thumb over the surprisingly dense hair already growing in. “I’ve never seen you anything but clean-shaven.”
His brows were knitted, the expression in his dark eyes so heavy. “My kit is next door.”
“Well, don’t rush. I like it. Makes you look roguish and hot.” I lowered my head, about to show my appreciation for that fact, when he placed a finger over my mouth.
“We have to talk.” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I apologize for running off on you before, but I truly didn’t know how to handle this.”
Just like that, all my joyful sexy-time vibes vanished into the ether. My skin iced over, and I shifted on his lap, prepared to climb off. If he was going to tell me to get lost—or some variation—I’d prefer if he did it while I was dressed and not all snuggled against him as if we were normal lovers.
For once, I’d just wanted to be normal.
“You don’t have to say some big speech. I’m honestly fine with it. You may not believe me—”
“The condom broke.”
I narrowed my eyes on his clearly concerned expression. As a rule, Oliver appeared just this side of stern, but this was more than usual even for him.
He appeared genuinely worried.
“Okay.”
“Okay? You’re not on the pill, are you?”
I shook my head. “For what? There were no invaders in my tunnel of love.”
For the briefest moment, his lips twitched before he sobered once again. “No difficult menstrual cycles in your past, obviously.” He exhaled. “Of course not.”
“Your knowledge of what aids the female reproductive cycle is both impressive and horrifying.”
He didn’t laugh, just brushed my hair away from my brow. “Most likely, it’ll be fine.”
“Sure. That seems likely.” I nodded vigorously. Positive beliefs brought about positive results.
I’d been all about that motto, until my parents had sold my dreams right out from under me.
“There are options.” He cleared his throat and picked up my hand, playing with my fingers as if he couldn’t meet my gaze. “Like the morning-after pill. Just as a precaution—”
“No.”
He frowned. “No?”
“Yes. It’s a two-letter word meaning negatory. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” I scrambled off him and picked up the shreds of my lingerie, balling them in my hands.
I set a little scrap aside to keep for my memory book. That was even better than a photo of our sex lair.
Biting my lip, I glanced back at the messy sheets. Maybe I’d snag a quick snap of that too.
Then I glimpsed the small spot of blood.
It embarrassed me more than anything else. I’d have to clean it up. God only knows what the hotel would charge. Besides, gross. I should’ve thought ahead. Grabbed a towel. Something.
I rushed into the bathroom to get a wet washcloth, but when I turned, I bumped into Oliver. I hadn’t even heard him follow me. Damn cat-quiet movements of his.
“I have to take care of—”
“Let me. I’ll take care of that, and you too.” He caught the fist with the washcloth and brought it to his chest.
To my absolute horror, the backs of my eyes grew hot. What the heck was wrong with me? I’d been fine five minutes ago. Then I’d seen a tiny spot and talked about some dumb pill I wasn’t even going to take and I was all screwed up.
“I’m not taking some pill.” I stared at his throat because I couldn’t bear to face him dead-on. He’d think I was soft and spineless, and maybe I was. Maybe I was too sensitive to be a woman of the world.
I’d just have to live with that. Make my peace with who I was at heart, just perhaps strive to be a bolder version now and then.
When he didn’t say anything, I couldn’t stop from filling the silence. “I know all your other women probably wouldn’t hesitate, and I’m sure it’s a needless precaution, but I can’t do it. It just doesn’t feel right to me.”
Some part of me waited for an accusation. A small, angry part that had already lifted her fists, prepared to duke it out if need be.
Hoping for a Hamilton progeny, are you?
The child didn’t actually exist, but I’d do battle just the same.
The tears came again, except this time one sneaked through. He caught it with his thumb and I swallowed hard. “All I ever wanted was choices.”
He nodded as if it made all the sense in the world. “With me, you’ll always have them.”
I leaned my head against him and absorbed the crazy thud of his heartbeat under my ear. “Thank you.”
“Not necessary.” He brushed a kiss over the top of my head. “I didn’t want to ruin this for you. I mean, assuming I could, unless you already didn’t find it satisfactory. And if so—”
“Oliver.”
“Yes?”
I closed his lips with my fingers, surprised at how easy it was to smile with him. Even easier than it was to snark or toss insults. “Shut up.”
We went back into the bedroom and he cleaned up the sheet and me, though I told him I would just take a shower. But he was insistent, and then he told me why.
Apparently, broken condoms don’t always break cleanly. Sometimes pieces get left behind.
Yeah, you guessed it. My heretofore untested love canal had possibly been strewn with the perils of hasty sex. Or improper condom usage, which was probably closer to it.
Next time, I’d just let him handle the latex and I’d take notes. If there was a next time.
There had almost been one when he’d been performing the surprisingly unhideous cavity search. He’d managed to make it arousing. He made everything arousing, which was how I’d ended up coming by the end of it.
All’s well that ends well, right?
We showered and he returned to his room to get his suitcases. Seemed stupid for him to be so far away, when I pretty much wanted him to live inside me.
Over the top? Not so much. I had a lot of time to make up for.
“I feel like we should compromise on the day’s activities,” he said over lunch in yet another restaurant, this one with an open-air patio that let me take picture after picture of the palm trees, and the pedestrian with the fun, jaunty hat, and the cool vintage cars that rolled past. Vegas was a whirlwind, and I wanted lots of images for my journal.
Pictures of Oliver weren’t a must, since I could take those any old time. But he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt purchased at the same boutique we’d gotten my bikini—still had a skirt, so whatever—and I figured I’d probably never see him in it again. He kept pulling at the collar and saying things like “thank God no one knows me here” and “is it bikini time yet?”
I’d bribed him to buy the shirt with offers of swimsuit modeling. I was still wrapping my mind around having a bikini-worthy body, never mind this insanely attractive man being willing to subject himself to his version of fashion suicide just for the chance to see me in one.
I only took a couple photos of him in his new threads. The pictures might not even make it into my journal.
Well, the one with him sitting with his chin propped on his hand as if he was contemplating weighty issues definitely would. I’d almost uploaded it to Facebook and Instagram.
Oliver Hamilton, pondering life.
Since I valued my well-being, I’d stopped short of doing so, however.
After setting down my phone, I picked up one half of my chicken salad sandwich and nibbled a corner. “What kind of compromises are we talking about here, Hamilton?”
“The kind where if I have to see a fake Elvis, you have to wear that bikini for approximately twelve hours straight.”
I hid my smile behind my sandwich. “Not seeing how that’s an equivalent trade.”
“You would if you knew how I felt about Elvis impersonators,” he muttered.
“You should have more respect for the King. Besides, they’re part of the entire Vegas experience. When Ross and Rachel got married—”
“Dear God, not that again.”
I sniffed. “Last night you were trying to wrangle a date with me to watch every episode. Is the bloom off the rose now that you’ve thoroughly plowed through mine?”
His grin was dazzling. “Is that what I did?”
“No. Shut up.” I tore off a piece of my crust and flung it at him, giggling and ducking as he tossed it back.
“I wasn’t trying to wrangle a date with you, by the way.”
“You so were.” I smirked. “It was funny seeing you trying to act casual.”
“You were screwing with me on purpose?”
“No. I would never screw with you.” Deliberately, I lingered over the last three words, and his eyes heated as if we were alone and naked.
“Lies. All lies. You’ve been screwing with me since the day we met.” His voice had lowered to match mine.
“When was that, exactly? I don’t really remember.” Small town or not, our families hadn’t exactly run in the same circles. “You’ve just always been around.”
Last week, I would’ve added like a fungus. Amazing what bed-rocking intercourse could do to a previously tumultuous relationship.
Oliver sliced neatly into a piece of flank steak. “I’d come back from prep school in May, and my father didn’t feel comfortable having the friend I’d brought with me staying at the house. So, we came to the bed-and-breakfast to arrange her room. You were behind the counter in cutoffs and a tank top, and you were smiling and waving at everyone so much, I was sure you must be on speed.”
It was possibly the most words I’d ever heard Oliver say at one time. And so many of them were fascinating.
“You remember my outfit?”
He nodded. “Pink tank with stripes, denim shorts. You were sunburned too. Told me you’d fallen asleep reading a book by the lake the day before.”
“What was your friend wearing?”
He shrugged and reached for his water. “Don’t remember. She was a friend from our sister school. We weren’t that close, but I hated the idea of leaving her behind for the holiday. Her parents had never been around much during breaks.”
Hmm.
I wished Ally was here to tell me what this meant. If it meant anything at all. But then I couldn’t ask her, because she would immediately say I was a fool for sleeping with Oliver in the first place, never mind wondering what it said that he remembered my outfit from a lifetime ago.
“Why wouldn’t your father let her stay at the house?”
“She was underage.”
“Pervert.” My pleasure at his memory of our first encounter disappeared with my recollection of his friend. It was hazy at best, since I didn’t have Hamilton-level powers of total recall, but I thought I remembered shiny auburn hair, mile-long legs, and a Cover Girl smile.
I also recalled Oliver driving that damn silver Porsche he still drove now, and the crinkles around his eyes as he smiled at me. Briefly, as if he couldn’t spare the wattage on just anyone. But he’d offered her plenty.
“Jennifer,” I said, half to myself.
“Yes. You do remember.”
“Bits and pieces. Did you pork her?”
That damnable black brow winged up. “If you’re referring to sex, no. As I said, we weren’t that close, and that includes our body parts. If you’re referring to bringing her to a luau, perhaps due to my shirt, definitely not.”
I laughed and picked up my cell as it buzzed. I’d only turned it on a little while ago to take pictures and it was notoriously slow about gathering missed texts, so I’d planned on checking my messages after lunch.
Texts from Ally flooded my screen just as the buzzing from the incoming call cut off.
How was the goddess? Did she sing “Where Does My Heart Beat Now?” Lost classic!
I’m hoping the reason u haven’t replied is because she slayed you & u needed time 2 recover!
Ok, I’m just a crazy pregnant lady, so that’s why I
’m worried. Hope u are ok. Really don’t want 2 have 2 text Oliver.
I stopped reading there because my phone started buzzing again. Seth? What the hell?
I answered and exhaled. “Is it the baby? I haven’t read all her texts yet. Sorry, my phone was off. Is she okay? Is she having contractions?”
“Are you all right?” Before I could answer, he lowered his voice. “Whatever happened, we will always be your friends.”
What the actual fuck? I didn’t even have time to mess with the swear gallon right now.
“I’m perfectly fine. Better than fine. I have no idea what you mean, Hamilton, but you better spill.”
Across the table, Oliver let out a sigh. “Let me talk to the ingrate.”
I held up a finger. “Well?”
“You didn’t call all night. All night,” he added, as if that meant something important.
“Your point? I’m on frigging vacation.”
“Nighttime is Oliver’s prime time,” he said meaningfully, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“Oh, is it now? What does that mean, exactly? Does he don a superhero outfit and leap from tall building to tall building?” I couldn’t keep from snorting.
“Sage, give me the phone.”
I switched the finger I was holding up, pretending not to hear the shocked gasp from the table behind us. No one would ever accuse me of being classy. So sue me.
“You know what I mean. I understand if you feel smothered by our concern, but we have reason to be. Me more so than Ally, because she truly didn’t think things would swing that way.”
“Oh, but you did?”
Seth neatly sidestepped that question. “My brother has far more experience than you, and my wife’s misguided attempt to make sure you were safe in Vegas might have led to—”
I didn’t hear anything after that. Just that white-noise fuzz in my head that let me know either a panic attack or a rage meltdown was coming on fast.