by Penny Wylder
I stretch, and he lets me up from underneath him. “I was going to ask you why you were on there.”
He shrugs. “Because I like smart women, and if I wasn’t going to be with you, then I at least wanted to meet someone that I could have a conversation with.”
“Until me,” I tease, “when your main interest was that I liked older men with accents.”
Bryce smiles smugly. “I’m human,” he says. “And that was too perfect to pass up. It seemed like it was tailor made for me. I guess it was, wasn’t it?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“What made you download the app?” he asks.
I dig in my dresser for a fresh pair of underwear and a bra. “Frustration. Because of you, actually.”
“This, I have to hear.”
Finishing putting on my bra, I cross my arms and turn to face him. “I had a dream about you—very rude and un-British of you by the way, just crashing someone’s dreams without permission—and it turned me on. I tried my usual trick, but it wasn’t working. I absolutely couldn’t get you out of my head, and I was a cranky mess all day because I couldn’t get off. I hate dating apps, but Elle recommended that one. The rest is history.”
Bryce sits up, eyes alight with interest and amusement. “Wait, what’s your usual trick?”
I freeze. Whoops. No. No way. Not going there. “Oh, nothing. You know, vibrator and… accessories.” I look away and slip out of my room into the kitchen to feed Ursula who’s waiting for me impatiently, sitting on the kitchen table.
Hands catch me around my waist and spin me around. “I don’t believe you even for one second. Tell me what it is.”
“Nope.” I wiggle out of his grasp and manage to pour out some dry food for the cat before he catches me again. I won’t make it too hard for him to catch me, though. He is naked, after all. “Tell me,” he begs, pulling me toward him.
“It’s embarrassing.”
He chuckles against my skin, which raises goosebumps all over my body. “I think we’re past that, don’t you?”
“Ugh. Fine. I watch porn. But I made sure the actors had British accents so I could pretend they were you. Sometimes it worked.”
Bryce starts to laugh in earnest now, and I pull away. “Come here, Katti. I think that’s about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’m absolutely going to need to see some of those videos.”
“No fucking way,” I say. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I say, “I have you now. I don’t want to remember the desperation of trying to replace you. And there’s only so much embarrassment a girl can take, you know?”
He wraps his arms around me, and kisses my temple. “Okay. But I think we need to work on your version of embarrassing.”
“Maybe. But not today.”
“Not today,” he agrees. “Speaking of, what are you doing today?”
I flip the switch on the coffee maker and listen to the water start to trickle. “I have to go to the store. Don’t you have to go to work?”
“I have a few calls to make, but nothing too urgent that others can’t take care of. Do you mind that I don’t really want to let you out of my sight yet?”
“No,” I say. “I don’t want you to go either.”
“In that case,” he says, smiling, “you’re going to go to the store, and I’m going to go home and get some clothes. I’ll be back in time for lunch.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to look normal. But my heart is pounding. Because I love the fact that we can make simple plans like lunch. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m missing anything, and it’s amazing.
9
The rest of the week, Bryce and I are inseparable. Elle laughs at me and teases me every chance that she gets, but I know that she’s happy for me. I never knew I could be this happy. I love having Bryce home with me, going to sleep together and waking up together.
We fit into each other’s routines without much effort. He doesn’t come to the store with me every day, but stays at my house to make calls, or occasionally goes further into Boston to meet with his clients. But on the days he’s not in the corner chair reading, he’s outside the shop at closing time, ready to wrap me in his arms and make me forget any stress that I’ve gathered that day.
Even a few customers notice that I’m in good spirits, one of them commenting on how bright I am within Bryce’s hearing, and I swear that he has a smug smile on his face for the rest of the day.
And of course, there’s the sex. We can’t keep our hands off each other. He knows how to make my body sing like no other person ever has. And when I’m not at his mercy, we talk. We remember things from our separate points of view, and learn more about the things we never had a chance to talk about before.
And now, a week later, we’re in the car together back to Waterton for Marcy’s baby shower. I haven’t told my parents that I’m coming to town, which I know that he doesn’t approve of. But that’s something he doesn’t get to dictate, and he knows that. It’s the only asterisk to this happiness—the looming shadow of what might happen when my family finds out that we’re together.
And they will find out eventually.
They’ll have to, if we want this to be long term. And oh, fuck, I do. I want everything and more with Bryce. The last week has proved that everything I saw in him, everything I longed for, was accurate, and deeper than I could have imagined.
We’re holding hands across the center console, and I’m watching the foliage fly by when he speaks. “You’re quiet,” he says.
I smile. “I was just thinking about this week. How nice it’s been.”
He squeezes my hand, not needing to say anything else, and I lean back and close my eyes. It’s a five-hour drive to Waterton, and we’re barely half-way there. One of the reasons I don’t often go home. “Are you hungry?” Bryce asks, pulling off the highway. “We need gas, and there’s a great diner here.”
“I could eat something.”
Neither of us ate breakfast this morning. We slept in instead because we had a late night. Bryce decided he wanted to figure out which one of my vibrators was the most effective. That turned into a detailed evaluation process that involved his tongue and fingers, and me dissolving into a puddled mess of pleasure and orgasms.
My stomach growls as I think about food, and Bryce laughs. “Diner it is.”
It’s one of those places that’s designed to look like a diner from the fifties, and it smells amazing the second you walk in. “I want a burger,” I say as we sit down in a booth. “I think this place probably has amazing burgers.”
“I can assure you that they do. I’ve eaten here before on my way back and forth.”
“Perfect.”
There’s one of those little juke boxes in the booth with us, and Bryce pulls out some coins from his pocket and puts them on the table. We listened to a little radio on the way up, but not much. Of the things we’ve talked about, music hasn’t really been on the list. Oldies are the only songs available here. “What are you going to pick?”
I flip through the menu, slip in a quarter, and watch him break into a smile when “I Can’t Help Myself” starts to play. I mouth the words to him, subtly dancing in my seat. He sings them back. Actually sings. Out loud.
Holy shit, he has a great voice. “I didn’t know that you could sing!”
“All British men can sing,” he says matter-of-factly. “It’s a little known secret.”
“That, for sure, is not true.”
“How else do you think we’re so popular?” he winks.
“Your accents may melt panties at the drop of a hat, but I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing that all British guys are guaranteed to have a going for them.”
Bryce sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Is that so?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“Speaking as a British man,” he says, “I might know more about it than you.”
I smile. “You’re speaking as a Briti
sh man who is stupidly, absurdly hot. Everybody is going to think that you’re gorgeous no matter whether you can sing or not.”
The waitress walking up to our table proves my point, and I have to stifle my laughter. Poor girl, it’s not her fault. Bryce would take anybody by surprise. She’s looking down at her pad of paper, and when she looks up at him her eyes go wide. It takes her a full five seconds to get her face back to normal before she greets us. “Hey guys. What can I get for you?”
Bryce speaks before I can. “We’ll both have burgers,” he says. “And I’ll have a glass of water. What would you like to drink, Katti?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. The way he says it sounds like a challenge. And I spotted quite a few delicious things on the menu. “I’ll have the biggest Oreo milkshake you have,” I say.
“Sure,” she says, still looking at Bryce and not at all at me. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get you?”
Bryce is still looking at me with a self-satisfied, smug smile. “No, thank you.”
I can tell she doesn’t want to walk away, but she finally does, with a glance back toward the table more than once. I have no doubt that she’s telling the other servers about the hottie at our table. That’s one thing I’m not worried about. Bryce is one of the most loyal people I know. I’d never have to worry about him going behind my back with anyone.
“Would you like me to prove to you that all British guys can sing?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “Because all your singing will do is prove that you can sing, and I didn’t sign up for a musical lesson today. But other than Ed Sheeran and the Beatles, that’s not proof.”
He shrugs. “I think that’s plenty proof.”
I roll my eyes, but reach out for his hand. He takes mine without question, smoothing his thumb across the palm. “British singing abilities aside, I don’t know what kind of music you actually like. If you had more options than the oldies in the jukebox, what would you pick?”
The waitress appears with Bryce’s water, and what might be the biggest milkshake I’ve seen in my life. Oh fuck, that’s not what I expected when I asked for the biggest one.
That’s just something you say when you’re trying to be indulgent, you know? Bring me the biggest one! Bryce laughs as I stare at it. I didn’t think I was going to have to add a second stomach to my body in order to eat it. “You’re totally going to have to help me finish this,” I say.
He shakes his head. “That’s on you. I have to keep my physique in fine form for my new lady friend.”
I laugh. “And what does that say about me? The fact that I’m the one eating the milkshake without any reservation?”
“Nothing at all,” he says, and makes a face. “You enjoy it. To be honest, I’m just not really a milkshake person. Put some brownies in front of me. Cookies. Any kind of baked good, and then we’d have a deal.”
I file it away. “Noted. But you didn’t answer the question—what kind of music are we going to listen to when we get back into the car?”
“I listen to a lot of different things,” he says. “But given the choice, I probably wouldn’t change the station. I really like music from this era.”
“Really?”
He chuckles. “Yes, really. Is that so strange?”
“No,” I say. “I suppose not.”
Bryce takes a sip of his water. “All types of music have their place, and it depends on my mood. But this type of music has a lot of nostalgia for me. It’s what my parents used to listen to when I was a kid. I have a lot of happy memories associated with some of the songs.”
I smile and squeeze his hand. “I hope that this is a good memory that will go in that file,” I say.
“Without a doubt,” he says. “But you have to answer the question as well,” he says. “What kind of music do you prefer?”
“Like you, I like a lot of things. I really like movie scores and soundtracks, because they’re so evocative. I also listen to a fair amount of ambient music. Anything with a really good melody is what gets me,” I say. “Is that what you would have picked me for?”
Bryce shakes his head, leaning forward again to take my hand in both of his. I like the small movements of his skin on mine. It’s the kind of intimate moment that I live for. “No,” he says. “Not that specifically. But I do think I would have guessed that you listened widely. I can’t imagine you being pinned down by just one genre.”
I’m staring at his hands now, and his forearms that are revealed by rolled up sleeves. I don’t know why the fuck forearms are so sexy, but they are. The image flashes in my mind of last night when I watched his forearm flex, over and over again as he used the vibrators on me. I know what kind of pleasure those forearms can bring me, and it’s linked into my brain now. I can’t escape it.
“I don’t know,” I say “I’m really into this new genre right now. Exclusively British guys who can sing.”
Bryce leans closer, watching me intently. “What do they sing about?”
“Fucking sexy songs,” I say. “All the lyrics are really hot and about people who can’t keep their hands off each other.”
“That sounds like a song that I would be very interested in,” he says. “Where would I hear a song like this?”
I take a long sip my milkshake out of the straw, making sure he sees the detail with which I take it into my mouth. I let him see just a peek of my tongue. Suddenly feeling bold and wanting more than a burger for lunch, I say, “For whatever weird reason, I hear they have excellent speakers in the restrooms. A very clear listening experience. Something about the acoustics.”
Bryce raises an eyebrow but says nothing as I get up from the table and walk away from him toward the diner bathroom. He’s not an idiot, he’ll get the hint. Not that it was much of a hint—it was more like a blow to the head. Nobody could misconstrue that. Or at least I hope not.
The women’s bathroom is just one room, which is good so I don’t have to make sure that I’m alone. I’m the only one in here. It’s only a minute later that Bryce comes through the door, and his mouth is on mine in a second. “You’re too fucking tempting, you know that?”
“I tried,” I gasp.
“Even when you don’t try, Katti. Always.”
I wore a dress today, and Bryce’s hand is under my skirt in a second, pushing aside my panties and dipping his fingers deep in my pussy. I moan into his mouth, and he laughs darkly. “I love how you’re always wet for me. But I’m not going to fuck you in a public restroom.”
“Don’t tease me,” I beg.
“I didn’t say you wouldn’t get off, baby girl. I said I wasn’t going to fuck you.” He chuckles again. “At least with my cock.”
There’s already two fingers inside me, and he adds a third, curling them and thrusting directly into my G-spot. He’s spent a fair amount of time this past week learning exactly where it is, and what it does to me when he plays with it. Mostly that it takes my breath away and makes me come quickly and a lot.
He doesn’t even have to touch my clit to have me on the edge, gripping his shoulders to keep my balance. Bryce uses his free hand to grab my hair and lock our gazes together. “Don’t look away,” he tells me.
I don’t. I fall into the dark blue of his eyes, and surrender to the feeling that’s carrying me away. I don’t even try to fight the rising tide of pleasure as it crashes over me. The orgasm is fast devastating, like a tornado rolling through my body. I soak his fingers, and my thighs, and I bite my lip to keep my moans in check. But I don’t look away from him as he continues to thrust through the orgasm until I’m limp and shuddering on his hand.
As soon as he pulls his hand away, I miss the sensation of him filling me. He lifts his fingers to my mouth, and I open. He loves it when I taste myself, and I know that he’s going to be hard when we walk out of here. I lick his fingers clean, watching his jaw clench with arousal and desire, before he lets me go.
Bryce is breathing hard, and he closes his eyes before he leaves the bathr
oom. I follow a couple minutes later, taking a second to clean up before I go back to the booth. The burgers arrived while we were gone, and I dive into mine without saying anything. Though I make a point of touching Bryce’s leg with my foot under the table. I want him to feel me.
The waitress stops by as we’re eating. “Is everything all right here?”
“Yes,” I say. “Everything is fine.”
She looks at me and I swear, it’s like it’s the first time that she’s seen me. She looks at me, and takes in my appearance. I barely glanced in the mirror while I was in there—I’m sure there’s something that says ‘quickie’ about me. “Oh,” she says. “Okay.”
Bryce smirks at me. “You know, if I end up getting hard every time I eat a hamburger, I’m going to blame you.”
“Then you’ll just have to take me to more diners. Who knows what kind of ‘listening experiences’ they have there.”
“That’s a very good point. And since you’re so keen on it, I’ll make sure to show you some of my favorite songs once we’re on the road again.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s not what—”
“I know what you meant, Katti,” Bryce cuts me off, laughing while he reaches for the ketchup. “More trips to diners will be arranged. I promise you.”
“Thank you,” I grin. “I would hate to miss out on British singing, no matter who is doing it.”
We’re both laughing now, and I think that this might be my favorite lunch I’ve ever had.
10
The rest of the trip is relatively uneventful, though Bryce does keep his promise to play me his favorite songs. It’s everything from true oldies to alternative rock and further to mainstream popular music.
He makes me laugh by singing along with every song—loudly and sometimes intentionally off-key—and he’s actually really good. I can’t believe that I never thought about this. That his deep, resonant voice would lend itself perfectly to singing. It’s also strange to hear him singing without the British accent. By necessity, mimicking American songs makes him sound American, and it’s weird.