Follow

by Tessa Bailey

  “Don’t look at the comments.”

  Who’s the cute girl?

  Nice ass.

  Aw, shit. Caruso got laid last night.

  “Too late,” I say.

  He winces. “That bad, huh? I usually don’t get a chance to read all of them, but I’m definitely going to hold off this time.”

  I shrug. “Just typical bro stuff.”

  “If it’s disrespectful, you shouldn’t consider it typical.” A muscle ticks in his cheek. “I’ll take it down.”

  “No, it’s fine…” My face isn’t showing in the shot, and I take a moment to be grateful over that fact. I created an Instagram account forever ago and never used it to do anything but drool over the Hemsworths, so even if he’d tagged me in the picture, zero people I know would see it and comment, right? There’s no use running through what-ifs, though, because I’m just a faceless girl in a red dress. No harm no foul.

  Still, I need to be more vigilant about Will taking pictures. I’ve been out of Staten Island for almost a decade, but someone could easily recognize me, comment, and connect me to Will’s father as fast as it takes to hit post.

  He watches me tap on the second new picture, which depicts Southpaw asleep in a tangle of towels on the bathroom floor, above the caption, All play and no work makes Southpaw a happy boy. “Our first stop out of New York was in Lewes, a small town in Delaware. He was still kind of confused by the sudden trip and I was still getting my bearings, too. Being a full-time dog dad.” He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Anyway, I wanted to get him the biggest bone I could find, thinking maybe it would make him feel better. Went into a butcher shop and the owner’s kid was working the counter. Peter was his name. He fell in love with Southpaw on the spot.”

  Will’s smile dims a little. “Peter knew, without me telling him, that something was wrong. I’m still not sure if I wasn’t hiding it very well. Or if the kid was just special. But he knew.” My heart is in my throat as a few seconds tick past, Will staring through the windshield at the road. “I opened the Instagram account so Peter could follow along on the trip. It was just meant to be for him, but around the end of the first week, it kind of blew up. And I realized all those reasons I was on the trip—recognizing the important things—maybe people were doing that through me. So I just keep posting.” In a clear attempt to lighten the mood, he raises his eyebrows at me. “Who am I to deprive everyone of the best dog in the world, right?”

  “You’re right, that would be selfish. And you’re not selfish at all, are you, Will?” The words whisper right out of me without any encouragement or forethought. They startle me in their absolute clarity and sincerity. But startled or not, I can’t stop myself from reaching across the car and laying a hand on Will’s forearm. “My mother used to say, love is never a small thing. Even the tiniest hint of love is a forest fire. All those likes and follows…people sense when something is real and good. You and Southpaw are real and good.”

  Will’s eyes are behind sunglasses, but the look he turns on me is no less potent. It’s gratefulness wrapped in hope, baked in I want to fuck you. My hand flies off his arm like I’ve been burned, when all I really want is to leave it there to feel the inferno. Let it race over my skin.

  An idea occurs to me and I voice it, unable to hold back in the midst of our snapping connection. “My GoPro is in my suitcase. I could attach it to Southpaw’s collar when we get to the park. You could give everyone a dog’s-eye view of his canine adventures.” Hearing the excitement in my tone, I immediately try to reel back and play cool. “No pressure, just think about it.”

  “I don’t have to think about it. Let’s do it.”

  “Oh.” I press my knuckles to my mouth, trying to mash my smile back down. “Okay.”

  Will’s interest heats my left side. “Do you always carry a camera?”

  “Not really, just…” Not liking the taste of yet another lie on my tongue, I shrug. “I carry it a lot, actually. You know how, like, when you walk down the street, you’re only focused on yourself? How you’re walking, the music you’re listening to, the next intersection? I clip the camera to a hat or my purse sometimes, then watch the footage back later.” Colors, sounds and laughter play on a reel in my head. “Even with a small angle adjustment, it’s like you were in a whole other world without realizing it.”

  My words hang in the air a moment. Not long enough to make me want to snatch them back, but close. “I’m guessing you don’t want to work in a gambling parlor the rest of your life,” Will says softly.

  “No.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  A gradual pressure drops down on my lungs. Nicky is the only person who knows I applied to film school, but it’s something we only talk about in passing. My parents were so proud when I graduated with my accounting degree, their newly safeguarded way of life provoking them to push me toward numbers. Accounting. Where paper cuts and carpal tunnel are the most extreme hazards. Having grown up in the same house as me, they’d been my indulgent audience more than once—usually during screenings of whatever high drama I’d shot with Barbie dolls and a camcorder that day. But any hints at attending film school had been met with flat smiles and pats on the head.

  Filmmaking is already a male-dominated industry. Throw in the fact that my appearance prevents me from being taken seriously and I don’t have so much as an independent short under my belt? I win the award for Most Likely to Be Laughed Out of the Building. When my parents died, I was devastated. Still am and always will be. But I would be lying if I didn’t say their passing gave me the green light to take a wildly aimed shot at my dreams.

  Just one.

  But sending a sneaky application—that could easily be rejected—and talking about it out loud are two different things. My past boyfriends thought my GoPro and the videos I edited together on my laptop were cute, but didn’t really “get it, hon.” What are the chances an über-successful hedge fund manager won’t pity me, even if he doesn’t say it out loud?

  God. You know what? This isn’t me. I’m a ballsy, Italian leather-wearing, shit-talking, chip-counting man-eater. If this guy doesn’t take me seriously, he’s the idiot.

  For the first time, my patented bolstering technique doesn’t work. Might as well face it, I can’t keep my mask in place as easily around this guy.

  Before I can lose my nerve, it flies out. “I applied to film school.”

  He nods once. “Where?”

  “The Film Institute.” His matter-of-fact tone is easing the pressure on my chest already. “They have campuses in LA and New York. They’re…the best.”

  “Sounds like there’s a but,” Will says after a moment. “Why is there a but?”

  “But I won’t get in.” I smile and shrug off the disappointment those words carry along with them. “Don’t worry, I’m not banking on being accepted. I have a degree in accounting.” I pretend to check my eye makeup in the mirror. “I’m just another twenty-three-year-old taking her time learning to be a responsible adult. Pining for an unrealistic career is part of the fun, right?”

  “Twenty-three.” He gives a low whistle. “Fuck.”

  “Oh.” I snap the mirror shut. “Have we hit a roadblock?”

  “Nope. Just taking a second to acclimate.” Laughing under his breath, he flexes those giant hands on the wheel. “Will you show me some of your work? I want to see it.”

  My stomach bottoms out. “Why?”

  “So I can give you an opinion.”

  My laugh is high-pitched, making me cringe. “Who said I wanted one?”

  “You realize it took you a full two minutes to even admit you applied? I’m guessing you don’t tell a lot of people. So I can safely cut the number of people who’ve seen your work in half.”

  “Don’t use psychology and math on me at the same time.”

  His gorgeous mouth ticks up at one end. “Don’t you think I’m the kind of man that would give you an honest opinion?”

  “Hell no. Yo
u’re trying to sleep with me.”

  His laughter booms through the car, earning him a snarf from the backseat. “Good point.” The look he sends me is one of mock sympathy. “Looks like we’ll have to sleep together first, so you know I’m being truthful. Should I pull over?”

  “Yes.” Leaning back in the seat, I run both hands over my breasts, down to my stomach and thighs, triumphant when a growl rips from Will’s throat. “But only because I want lunch,” I say, fluttering my eyelashes.

  “We’ll see about that, woman.” A beat of silence passes, and then he’s reaching across the console to cup my chin. “It’s not about my opinion. I want to see what you love. And you might be goddamn twenty-three, but nothing you wanted at any age could be unrealistic. One day with you and I’d take that to the bank. I just want to be the one who looks at your work and tells you that.” His thumb brushes my bottom lip. “Think about it.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Will

  I’ve let millions of dollars ride on a hunch—and won—but it never satisfied me as much as Teresa telling me she applied to film school. It doesn’t take a genius to see she doesn’t confide in people easily. I like being that person. A lot.

  The irony that she opened up about her private goals but lied to me about her last name definitely isn’t lost on me. But these questions hanging over her head don’t make me want her trust any less. Actually, want doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m craving more of what’s inside her head by the second. She’s guarded and, hell, she could be here to try and screw me over, but I know in my bones there’s more real here than fake. Right now, I’m interested in the real.

  I’ve been a fighter and I’ve stood at the helm of Caruso Capital Management. Those two professions don’t have a lot in common. Hell, I’m still trying to figure out which of them is where I was meant to belong, but they both require a man to trust his gut. My gut is driving me to give Teresa more of what she needs.

  I want you to use me. Want you to buy me.

  As I pull into the parking lot of a two-story brick building, my cock stretches and curves to my fly. She whimpered those words to me in the heat of the moment last night. But they weren’t just dirty nothings, they were an admission, just like the one she made about film school. More proof she finds me worthy of her trust. The fact that she’s placed that trust in me makes me feel guilty as shit for ordering the background check. Dammit.

  I want to make up for doubting her, whether it’s founded or not. If that doesn’t tell me I’ve got a growing infatuation for this woman, nothing will. But there it is. I need to earn her secrets. And I want to blow her fucking mind so the idea of getting on a bus won’t come so easily for her come tomorrow.

  Broken Bow is a small town I’ve never heard of, but a billboard ten miles back claimed Boney’s Brisket has the best Tex-Mex for a hundred miles. I’ve been in this part of the country long enough to know that every restaurant makes the same claim, so I’m not holding out a ton of hope. I’m more interested in what’s going to happen before lunch.

  I open the door for Southpaw and he takes off, as per usual, heading for the tree clearing behind Boney’s. Teresa makes a little squeak and tries to lunge out the passenger side door after him, but I lay a hand on her arm and stop her.

  “Don’t worry. It’s just his routine.” My hand travels down to her wrist, so I can press a thumb to her pulse. It jumps. “Freaked me out a little the first time, too. But he always comes back. He’ll be gone about twenty minutes.”

  Her thighs shift on the seat. She’s trying not to look at my thumb on her wrist and failing, color spreading up her neck. “Should we go inside without him?”

  “No.”

  Her pulse leaps again, continues to race. “So we just s-sit here and wait?”

  When it comes to Teresa’s hidden needs, we’ve only scratched the surface. But I remember what made her come the loudest last night, because I was paying damn close attention. When I told her I wanted to ride her pussy like I paid ten grand for the pleasure, she went off like a bottle rocket. Yes, she said. Yes.

  I wouldn’t gamble on something that could hurt her, but our conversation this morning took care of that concern. And the nipples trying to poke through the front of her dress tell me what I’m about to do is a solid bet.

  Come on, baby. Trust me to give you what you need.

  “I’d like you to get in the backseat.”

  Her laughter is uneven. “I-it’s…we’re in a parking lot.”

  I bring her wrist to my mouth and lick a path up the sensitive skin, straight to her elbow, and Jesus Christ, she tastes like watermelon and woman. If I had the freedom I need, I would lay her on a flat surface and go for broke between her legs, but only after tasting her in places she wouldn’t expect. Her hips, the small of her back, behind her knees. “We’re in the last spot, up against a wall. Only one person could discover us and they’ve probably just gone in for lunch. I like our odds.”

  “I don’t know,” she breathes, shaking her head. “I—”

  My wallet lands in her lap. Her eyes shoot to mine and I see the flash of emotion she tries to subdue but can’t. Excitement. There’s irritation, too, but it’s surface bullshit. The reaction she thinks she should be having, maybe.

  “A lap dance. I’ll let you keep on panties, but all your other clothes come off.” I reach across the console and run a hand up her thigh, lifting her dress as if to judge the goods, but on the inside I’m groaning over the way her legs flex and part, just a hint. Involuntary? “You look expensive, baby, but I’m good for it.”

  She chokes on whatever she’s trying to say, then falls silent. Her eyelids droop, and all the while, her tits shudder up and down. God above, I’ve never been so desperate to fulfill a need for another person. But my hands are fucking shaking with the impulse to drag her onto my lap, spread her thighs open and bang her tight little body up against the steering wheel. Yeah, I want to come. No doubt. But I’d damn well forgo getting my own rocks off to make her orgasm one extra time.

  Fuck. What this woman does to me.

  “How much?”

  Her whisper is so low, I think it’s the air conditioner I’ve left running. “All of it.” I lift the hem of her dress even more, my jaw clenching when I see how tightly she’s squeezing her legs together. Not enough to hide the pretty tiger striped thong cupping her pussy, though. No, I definitely see that. “You’re going to be worth every red cent, aren’t you?”

  “Let’s just say you’ll be a repeat customer,” she murmurs, pushing open the passenger door, dislodging my hand and stepping out of the car. The more she plays along with the illusion I’ve created, the more pink suffuses her skin, her eyes taking on a bedroom quality. I can’t get out of the driver’s side and into the backseat fast enough…and she waits. Waits for me to slide into the center of the rear bench seat, my legs splayed, hands at my side. Genuine impatience to see some skin ticking in my jaw. A man about to get a show.

  “I don’t have all day.” Opening the wallet I brought with me, I take out a stack of bills and lay them into the door handle. “You came highly recommended. Let’s see if you’re as good as everyone says.”

  Teresa presses her lips together but can’t quite trap the moan that escapes as she climbs into the backseat, walking toward me on her knees. I take a second to thank 1970s car manufacturers for all the room…and then my world is all Teresa. She rolls into my consciousness like succulent, summer storm clouds and demands every facet of my attention. Using my shoulders for balance, she straddles me slowly, her lower lip caught between her teeth. With her ass settled on me mid-thigh, we both seem to be holding our breath, waiting to see what she’ll do next. Patience is not my strong suit, but I’m not rushing this. No, she might be discovering something about herself with my help and I’m savoring every second.

  Her eyes lift to mine, trapping me in the sticky atmosphere blooming between us, her hands leaving my shoulders to settle on her beautiful pair of tits. She pushes them up,
massaging them, turning her already low neckline into a complete joke. “Fuck.” Whatever remaining blood I have left in my body rushes to my cock, swelling the flesh in a mind-bending rush of heat. “That’s a pretty dress, but it’s useless. You’re spilling out of it.” I reach beneath her dress and deliver a testing slap to her backside. “Give me what I’m paying for.”

  A shudder blows through her, those teeth clamping down so hard on her bottom lip, I expect to see blood. “A-are you going to take your clothes off, too?”

  There’s only a small thread of uncertainty in her voice, but I’m already moving. Cupping the sides of her face and kissing her, hard, long and steady. It’s seeking and finding, confessing and smoothing. Most important of all, it’s reassuring. After a moment of coaxing, she lets me feed my tongue into her mouth and it’s like being gifted with the Crown fucking Jewels, except she doesn’t taste like some inanimate object. She’s wet and giving and…vulnerable. For me. It serves as a shot of protectiveness and adrenaline, straight to my bloodstream.

  When I pull away, I keep her close enough to rest our foreheads together. “No matter what comes out of my mouth, I know you’re Teresa. I respect you,” I whisper against her panting lips. “You’re going to work this little kink out on my lap so we know its flavor, woman. Understand?” She gasps into my kiss but is quick to participate, licking her tongue against mine. “Then I’m going to hold the door open for you on the way into that restaurant. Going to pull out your chair and dare anyone with a dick to look below your neck. I’m going to be the same man after you take off that dress for me.”

  She shakes her head. “Why do I believe you?”

  “I’m guessing it’s a gut feeling. Like the one I have about you.” Her eyes race over my face like she’s trying to solve a puzzle—and I can damn well relate. But there’s a second bone-deep instinct telling me we’re not ready to explore that part of what’s going on in our heads yet. We’re on our own unique path to get there and it involves one hurdle at a time. “To answer your question, no. My clothes stay on.” I fall back against the seat and settle both hands on her spread thighs. “You’re the one punching the clock.”