by Mimi Grace
The woman made a single tsk. “Unfortunately, we’re completely full for the six o’clock class, but if you want, we can fit you in for the seven-thirty bootcamp?”
Retta shook her head. “No, that’s okay.” She turned to her employees. “There’s no space. I think I’ll head home.”
“Are you sure?” Philippa asked the woman behind the counter.
“It’s fine. Next time we’ll plan better. Have fun, okay?” Retta said. Though she was disappointed, she was also a bit grateful she wouldn’t have to experience to what extent her sports bra was unsuitable for boxing.
But as that thought crossed her mind, Duncan rounded the corner. She’d literally come to the gym expecting to catch a glimpse of him, but nevertheless her stomach flipped when she spotted him.
When he saw her, he stopped dead in his tracks despite walking and talking with someone else. Their eyes met, and he smiled at her before regarding her from head to toe. Every nerve ending in her body fired off as she looked away to temper down suspicion from her team. She didn’t want to answer questions the following day.
“Bakers night out?” Duncan asked as he came to stand next to her.
The side of his body brushed up against hers, and it took everything in her not to react like she’d touched a hot plate.
“Yeah, thought we should take advantage of such a reputable place,” Omar said.
With his dimple on full display, Duncan said, “Smart. You’re here for the six o’clock class?”
They nodded.
“You’ll enjoy it. Trevor is a great trainer.”
Philippa perked up at the mention of Trevor’s name. It was the first time she stopped methodically scanning the foyer for signs of him.
“Well, since it’s your first class here, and I have a bit of time, I can show you how to wrap your hands. You’ll be ready to go,” he said.
“I’m actually not joining them today,” Retta said as her team members all revealed the wraps they’d been given.
Duncan turned his gaze on her. “Why not?”
“I didn’t book ahead of time,” she explained.
He nodded and walked over to the front desk.
“Oh, he’s about to hook you up,” Philippa whispered as they watched Duncan talk to the woman behind the counter.
“You’re in,” Duncan said, rejoining the group. “We typically see one to two no-shows, so it should be fine.”
Retta’s heart soared, but not because she was going to get to work out with her crew.
“Okay, let’s get this hand wrapping tutorial started,” Duncan said, moving them off to the side, away from the door and welcoming mat.
For the entire demonstration, he spoke confidently and repeated where it was needed. After checking each person’s final product, Duncan gave them the go-ahead to make their way down to the gym. Retta was the last one he approached.
“How’s it going?” he asked, almost whispering the question.
She pressed her glasses firmly on her face. “I think they’re okay.” She offered her hands for inspection.
“This one’s too tight,” he said, narrowing the distance between their bodies. “You’ll lose feeling.”
She clumsily unraveled the wrap before he took hold of her freed arm. As he slowly moved the material around her hand, she became aware of her own heartbeat. It was loud and persistent, and the longer they stood there, the more restless she became.
“Don’t mind the calluses,” she said in hopes of distracting him from the rapid pulse in her wrist.
Flipping her hand so her palm faced upwards, Duncan studied the rough patches where her digits and palm met. He gently ran his thumb over them.
“What are they from?” he asked, resuming his hand wrapping.
“Work,” she explained.
His eyebrows raised. “Baking?”
People thought bakers pranced through icing sugar and worked to the sound of chirping birds, but rolling dough with a hard pin for hours on end was no joke.
“Yeah, they used to be worse when I worked in a commercial kitchen during my apprenticeship.”
“That’s kinda badass.”
A few moments later, he’d completed his task and said, “You’re good to go.” But his hand remained around her fingertips.
“Thanks,” she said, her beating heart flaring once again.
It took several more seconds for him to finally release her, and as they walked down the hallway together, the chatter of the class downstairs grew louder. But all Retta could focus on were the tiny sparks that would skate over her skin every time some part of her body grazed Duncan’s. Was he feeling them too? Did he think about the day at her apartment at regular intervals like she’d been doing?
When they reached the top of the stairs and ramp that took people down to the gymnasium, she turned to say goodbye and found him looking at her with such intensity. His hands clenched and unclenched, and neither of them said anything. The tingling that had been isolated to her arm now ran rampant across her entire body. It wasn’t clear who moved first, but it didn’t matter once they were embracing and their lips were touching.
They were on the move, but she wasn’t exactly sure where to. His strong arms encircled her waist, and while stumbling and careening backward to an unknown destination, she never worried they’d hit a wall or fall. He tasted faintly of spearmint, and she could feel the stubble on his face he usually kept shaven.
Eventually, they entered a room where the door muted the noise on the other side. It was here where she heard their erratic breathing and truly felt her body’s response to the man before her.
Duncan hadn’t expected to see Retta today, and he might’ve let her go off to her class if she hadn’t turned around and looked at him with her big brown eyes stark with desire. He’d abandoned his commitment to keeping things straightforward the moment he saw it.
She was kissing him and running her hands down his bare arms, and he could barely make sense of anything. His brain told him to get her on some sort of surface. He moved them toward a table and swept his arm across it. Papers, pens, and a full mug of cold coffee hit the floor.
Her breath hitched when he picked her up and placed her on the edge of the desk.
Not wasting any time, he spread her legs wide and settled in between them. Kissing her deeply, his body flooded with heat when she grabbed the back of his neck and pressed closer to him.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Retta said against his mouth.
“About what?” he asked.
“You touching me.”
He found it difficult to breathe for a moment. “How? When? When do you think about that?”
Running his lips against her neck where her rapid pulse danced underneath her skin, he waited for an answer. But the sound of someone walking past the door distracted her.
Moving her chin so she’d look at him, he said, “The door is locked. No one’s getting in.”
She nodded and slipped her hand underneath his shirt, her fingers skimming across his abs and chest. He gritted his teeth, and managed to ask again, “When do you think about me touching you?”
“Every time—” She removed her hands from his body and pushed up her t-shirt, tugging the thin sports bra down until her chest was exposed. “I’m trying to fall asleep or get myself off to relieve stress.”
He exhaled roughly and studied the way her breasts jutted out as an offering. Perfect. They were absolutely perfect. Round and small enough to comfortably fit in his palms.
“Stressed about?” he asked, mostly because he didn’t like the idea of her being stressed.
She released a breathy laugh. “Money, the bakery, climate change—”
Her words were cut short when she whimpered as he lightly ran his thumb over her stiffened brown nipple.
“You’re so sensitive.”
“I know,” she replied as her words turned into a throaty moan when he took one of her hard nipples into his mouth.
In response
, she grabbed the back of his head. He needed to grow out his hair a bit, he decided then. Feeling her grip tighten around his coils would be his priority. She arched her back, and he felt more than heard the carnal sounds escaping her lips.
He pressed his knuckles against her clit over her pants and made lazy circles, carefully watching her until he got the right rhythm and speed that had her breathing shallow and her eyes half open. Grabbing his hardening dick, he willed it to work with him at this time.
When Retta released another moan, this one a little more unbridled, he asked, “Do you want everyone to hear us? Is that your thing?”
She shook her head, delirious as she pressed the back of her wrapped hand against her mouth.
Watching the woman who was a fucking wet dream incarnate try to hold in her ecstasy was doing something to him.
While kissing the space between her breasts, he worked to pull her pants off her soft thighs.
Once bare on the table, he took a second to study her. Nipples slick from his tongue, red panties, and legs spread wide.
Her eyes were on him as he bent low and brushed his lips against her stomach before journeying down her leg.
He kissed her inner thigh, relishing the warmth of her skin. Determined to go slow, he lightly ran his fingers over the damp material that hid her pussy from his sight. However, her responsive inhale and attempts to scoot closer almost had him ripping the delicate fabric. He needed to get his mouth on her.
Hooking his fingers under the waistband, he moved to tug them off in one fell swoop, but a knock sounded at the door. “Duncan?”
Retta sat up so fast, almost taking out his head as she swung to close her legs and stand.
Duncan straightened from his stooped position, trying to get his heartbeat to level off and his dick to go down.
“Yup?” he called out, hoping his voice didn’t sound strained.
“Are you busy? I need to run over some things with you,” the person, one of the trainers, behind the door said.
He closed his eyes and swallowed the shout he wanted to release. “I’ll meet you in the staff room.”
Once the footsteps retreated, he turned to Retta who was already straightening her clothes.
“It’s a sign,” she whispered, hurriedly pulling up her pants. “We should stop trying to do this.”
He’d been sure not sleeping with her was a good idea, but things changed when clothes came off.
“Screw rules and hypothetical fake-dating manuals,” he said.
“Huh?”
Duncan came around to where she sat on the edge of the table, trampling on the documents strewn on the ground. He placed his hands on the desk on either side of her and said, “Who are we fooling?”
She frowned. “M-my family?”
“No, what I mean is we’re ridiculous for thinking this isn’t going to happen.” He leaned in close. “I want it. That pretty pussy of yours wants it. And when it happens, we’ll go slow and be as loud as we want.”
He watched her chest rise and fall, and he wasn’t sure how she’d respond.
“I look forward to it, then,” she said, kissing him and walking out the door.
Chapter Twelve
Retta sat on the plush ottoman in a department store, watching Nia rapidly rifle through clothing racks. Her stylish friend would only pause long enough to pull out an item and study it before either returning it or throwing the clothing over her arm.
“Any day now, girl,” Kym said from her place next to Retta on the wide seat.
Nia looked at Kym. “Do you want her to look great or not?”
Kym lifted her hands in surrender, and their friend resumed her search. Retta solicited the most fashionable person she knew to find outfits for the engagement party as well as the wedding.
This errand wasn’t completely necessary, because Retta had a couple appropriate pieces in her closet. But they were the two outfits she wore to every fancy function. As a result, she’d worn both of them several times throughout her years with Chris, from office holiday parties to dinner with his parents. There was even photographic evidence.
If she was going through all the trouble to fake a relationship to attend her ex-boyfriend’s wedding, shouldn’t she fully commit to making a statement? To Retta that meant not showing up in a predictable dress her ex-boyfriend helped her into once upon a time.
“Okay,” Nia said, coming over to where the two women sat. Both of her arms were draped with dresses.
“This side is more conservative and elegant,” Nia said, raising her left arm. “These dresses will make people sit up straight and shut the hell up.”
Nia’s intensity and care for this process was inspiring, but Retta was still a little overwhelmed with the number of choices.
“My vote is for the right side,” Kym said.
“Let me try some on, and we can see,” Retta said, taking two dresses, one from each pile, into the change room.
She tried the more conventional dress on first, liking the flowy fabric and the fact that she could eat without any fussy, tight material constricting her.
She exited the change room and Kym instantly said, “No, ma’am.”
“What?” Retta asked, touching the dress and twirling around to look at herself in the full-length mirror. “I like it.”
Nia approached and pulled the garment to get it to sit better around Retta’s bust.
“You look like a Reverend's wife. Or a woman who still has a landline,” Kym said.
Retta frowned at her friend.
Nia scoffed and said, “Girl, shut up. There’s nothing wrong with a Reverend's wife or landlines, and I think this is a very nice option. It’s sophisticated. There’s some interesting construction in the neckline, and it’s perfectly suitable for a church wedding.”
Retta tilted her head.
“What do you think?” Nia coaxed. “How do you feel in it?”
“It’s fine,” she replied. But that’s just it, fine would not do.
She returned to the change room, taking more dresses with her. However, this time all of them were from the hot pile. When she emerged wearing one of the sexy dresses, it wasn’t a great fit for her tall body. The next one made her already wide shoulders more prominent; she felt like a linebacker.
But she eventually stepped into a luxe emerald green A-line dress that hit her mid-thigh. It sat off the shoulder and almost looked like a lopsided bow.
She loved it.
“This one for the wedding,” Retta said.
Nodding, Nia said, “I agree. And then you can wear the black slinky one for the engagement party.”
Kym stood up, rubbing her lower back. “I know you two aren’t actually a couple, but Duncan is going to die when he sees you in the black one.”
The hairs on Retta’s arms stood up at the thought of Duncan narrowing his eyes and looking at her with a maddening half smile. It would reveal a whisper of the dimple in his cheek.
She shook her head. Who knew getting yanked from the precipice of an orgasm made you wax-poetic?
“How’s the arrangement between you two going anyway?” Nia asked.
Retta’s mind went immediately to the moment when Duncan was between her thighs. “Good. No complaints.”
However, she was a little uncomfortable with how much she’d revealed to him on that table. Not because they weren’t true or she was ashamed of her desires, but because there was some control she relinquished when she admitted how much she wanted him.
They were no longer operating under the guise that everything they did was strategic and artificial. But perhaps it was okay to allow herself to get swept up in her attraction to Duncan. When the curtains dropped and their arrangement was over, none of it would be held against her.
Kym, unaware of Retta’s thoughts, said, “Great. So, now you have a beautiful dress, a fine ass date, and you’re ready to make a scene at these wedding events.”
Teetering in shoes Nia suggested she wear, Retta arrived at a condo wh
ere Chris and Irene’s engagement party was being held. She’d intended to arrive earlier but had gotten lost. A small part of her hoped she’d fail to find the place, so she could be free to return home and eat pie from the tin and watch reruns of home-reno shows. But no such luck.
As she rode the elevator to the thirty-third floor with a macaron tower in her hands, she reminded herself why she was doing this. Once in front of the correct door, she barely touched it before it swung open to reveal the interior of the home. A dozen or so enthusiastic guests she didn’t recognize were already mingling. They talked with their hands and laughed loudly like they discovered they’d all gone to the same high school. There was no sign of Duncan, however.
“Retta,” someone called out.
Irene’s mother smiled and made quick work toward her.
“Hi, Auntie,” Retta said to the older woman after bracing herself for the interaction.
“Come in, please,” her Aunt Wendy said. She led Retta farther into the luxury condo and kept looking behind as if to make sure she was still following.
When they arrived in the kitchen, Retta carefully placed the creation on the counter next to the other desserts.
“This is beautiful,” her aunt said as she pulled out her phone to take a picture.
“I’m glad you like it.”
Retta took her aunt’s momentary distraction to look around. Two tables that could easily fit fifty guests, were set in the middle of the room she stood in. The enormous windows to her left provided a beautiful view of the city and brought in the setting sun’s golden light. Beyond the immediate space before her, she spotted a living room that had been turned into a dance floor for the occasion.
“All right, my dear, I have to take care of some things, but I’ll find you tonight so we can catch up a little more,” Aunt Wendy said as she offered a hug.
After picking up a cocktail from the bar, Retta slinked closer to where the other guests were congregating. She couldn’t have felt more out of place if she were playing maracas and doing an Irish jig.
More people arrived, and she smiled at those she’d met when she was with Chris. None of them maintained eye contact with her. She didn’t hold it against them, however, because Retta knew her own friends wouldn’t be quick to make conversation with one of her exes. Consequently, she was left to study the artwork on the walls as she waited for at least one of her many cousins or Duncan to show up.