by Nicole Bross
“Well, shit, you aren’t lying. What, were you born in March? Are we talking like, a couple weeks?”
“Less than…” I pretend to consider for a moment. “Ten years older.” In truth, it’s a little less than two. I turned thirty in June.
“Miserable Eames women,” I hear him mutter. “Would you give me that? You’re making a mess, and you missed a whole area in the middle.” He makes a lunge for the bottle of lotion and because my arm is twisted up behind me, I can’t fend him off. “Can I please help you?”
“Oh-my-God fine.” I don’t really have a choice since he’s holding the bottle, but I’m also interested in knowing what his hands feel like on my bare skin.
They feel amazing. Warm, steady, and firm. I get one quick flash of the schoolteacher, a past life I’ve already encountered, as she sits studying for her entrance exam to college. Then, because he’s sitting up on his chaise with one of his knees resting against my side, our skin never breaks contact until he’s done. I’m glad because I don’t want visions of the past to interrupt the present.
Kellen goes over my entire back with the sunscreen, rubbing it in with long, deep strokes, so it half feels like a massage. When he starts to push his thumbs in a circular motion over my shoulders, it becomes entirely a massage, and I groan reflexively as he digs deep at a knot.
“You’re all wound up,” he says, and there’s no laughter in his voice now.
“No shit.” It hasn’t exactly been an easy week.
“Better?” he asks after a minute. I roll my shoulders experimentally. They do feel looser.
“Much. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” There’s more than a simple acknowledgment of thanks in his tone. His hand lingers on the back of my neck for a moment, and he sweeps his thumb along my jawline once before withdrawing back to his chaise. I consider what he’d do if I rolled over and straddled his abs, pull loose the knot holding my top on, and demand he do my front as well. The idea appeals to me and I get the sense he wouldn’t refuse, but there are children present, and if there’s gossip about me in Soberly now, that would probably make the town explode. He’d have to hear about it until the end of his days, so I restrain myself and let my imagination run wild instead.
Sometime later, when we’ve moved well past sunscreen massages and bathing suits in my mind, Kellen sits up and stretches.
“Gotta go,” he says. “Work beckons. Supper’s at six again, and I’ll make sure it gets out to you on time.”
“Just a salad. I could barely button my jeans this morning. I need to find a gym around here or start running again.” After only a few days, Naomi’s home-style cooking is starting to show.
“Sounds like you accidentally bought the wrong size jeans,” he says. “You look amazing, Audrey. Thick in all the right places.” With that, he shoulders his backpack and leaves me.
9
Shortly before six, Drew greets me with a fist bump when I walk into the pub.
A young boy, maybe ten or eleven, sat on the curb, surrounded by sandstone row houses. Dust coated his shoes and the bare strip of skin between them and the hem of his patched trousers as he kicked at the pebbles littering the gutter. A group of kids shrieked and tumbled in front of him, all vying for control of the leather-covered ball. He watched them from the sidelines, waiting for an opportunity. It came a few minutes later when an out-of-control kick brought the ball almost into his lap.
“Can I…” he started to ask William. He and the younger boy have been neighbors their whole lives.
“We’re even numbers on each side, Jamie,” William interrupted before he could finish his sentence. “It wouldn’t be fair, you understand.”
“Right, of course,” Jamie replied. “Maybe when someone quits then.”
“Yeah, sure.” There was no enthusiasm in the other boy’s voice. Will took the ball back and Jamie sat back down, waiting patiently. Then George’s mother called him inside to scrub the kitchen floor, which elicited uproarious laughter from his playmates, and the game dissolved. All the boys scattered off to their own homes, leaving Jamie alone in the street. With a violent kick, he sent a stone sailing across the cobblestones.
Drew jerks his head over toward the bar, at what I’m starting to think of as ‘my’ seat, as the vision fades. His headphones, as usual, arc over his head like a red rainbow.
“What is this?” I ask Kellen as he sets an enormous plate down in front of me.
“It’s a salad, Audrey,” he replies in a know-it-all tone. It’s true, there are a few leaves of lettuce and some carrot shavings on the side of what can only be described as a platter, but there’s also a mound of crab legs and claws, a dish of melted butter, and a scoop of creamy mashed potatoes. Damn, does it look good. My mouth fills with saliva at the rich, garlicky scent of the butter.
“I can just wear leggings for the rest of my life,” I mumble as I scoop the first chunk of crab meat out of a claw and dunk it in the butter. Thankfully, I’d chosen a loose A-line sundress to change into after I was done at the beach. There is no way I can make it through this meal and still keep my jeans buttoned.
“Atta girl. Now I’d recommend you pair the blonde ale with this…salad.” A pint appears in front of me, expertly poured with a half-inch of thick foam. I can’t talk because I have a mouthful of the sweetest crab I’ve ever tasted, so I give him a thumbs up.
I absolutely demolish my plate, and two pints besides. I finish even the little afterthought of a salad. When I’m done, I ball up my napkin and burp discreetly into my fist. There’s a small butter stain on the pale blue eyelet right above my heart.
“Where’s your mom?” I ask Kellen when he clears my plate. “I want to ask her to adopt me so she can feed me forever.”
“That would be kind of weird,” he says.
“We could get bunk beds. It’ll be fun.”
“Even weirder.” I can see him fighting back a smile.
“You can be on top.” I lift my glass to my lips and add a wink over the rim for good measure and he cracks.
“Jesus, Audrey.” I think he’s blushing, and he can’t meet my eyes as he polishes an already-spotless glass. I’ve won this round.
“What’re your plans for the rest of the night?” he asks eventually. I’ve been reveling in his obvious discomfort at the lengthening silence between us, pretending to be engrossed in my phone while he opens and closes his mouth several times, at a loss for what to say.
“Bookkeeping. I haven’t touched it today.”
“Why don’t you bring it down here to work on? Must be lonely in that room all by yourself for hours.”
“Sometimes.” I could bring the laptop down and set myself up in one of the quiet corners. The idea hadn’t occurred to me before, mostly because the pub’s always been so crowded, but tonight there are half a dozen empty tables. I wouldn’t need to lug down the entire file box of papers, just a small folder. “Okay, don’t let anyone take that table.” I point to the one I want and dart out to grab what I need. Jana supplies me with my box from the safe, and ten minutes later I’ve set up my remote office. It reminds me a bit of my college days, writing papers in coffee shops and all-night diners. Kellen makes sure my pint is never empty, but otherwise leaves me to my work.
Sometime later, the lights come up slightly and Kellen announces it’s last call. I check the time in the corner of my screen, surprised it’s almost eleven. I’ve been poring over the credit card statements, trying to categorize each purchase based on the one-line description, many of which are cryptic and require some Google sleuthing. In the four hours or so I’ve been working, I haven’t even made it through one month.
There are still a few stragglers in the pub, but Drew takes their payment efficiently, ushers them out, and starts wiping down tables. As soon as they’ve left, Kellen cranks the music up a few notches and changes it to a mellow electronica playlist.
“You’re fine,” he says as I start to pack up my things. He and Drew continue their end-o
f-day tasks while I puzzle over a few lines from the statement. I can’t figure out what they are for the life of me.
“See you tomorrow,” Drew says, and slips out the door. Kellen is sliding the last of the clean wine glasses upside-down onto their racks as I pass him my empty glass with an apology.
“I’ll leave it for later,” he says. “I’ve got more important things to do right now.” He comes around to my side of the bar. “C’mere, you.” He slides his hands around my waist and draws me close, swaying along to M83. He smells like nutmeg, pine, and, inevitably, beer. I want to bury my face in his chest and inhale. Instead, I lace my fingers behind his neck—he’s the perfect height to rest my forearms on—and close the last gap between us so our hips brush. That small move is all the encouragement he needs, and one hand moves to the small of my waist to press our bodies together in a slow grind while the other one slides up my back until it rests on the nape of my neck. It’s not raunchy, but there’s a clear intent behind the way we moving together. The vision he gives me—just a flash—is very, very X-rated. Not everyone from the Victorian era was a prude. Two or three songs go by like that, the rhythmic, heavy bass of the music echoing in my pulse.
“Finally.” His mouth is so close to my ear I can feel his breath. “Right where I’ve wanted you since the first time you sat down in front of me.” It’s the first thing he’s said since we started dancing. His lips graze my earlobe, and I crane my neck upward, wanting more. I want to tell him how every time he smiles, my stomach twists in knots, and how if he doesn’t get his hands up under my dress soon, I might die. Instead, all that comes out is a half-sigh, half-gasp. I feel his lips pull apart in a smile against my skin.
“There’s a couch upstairs,” I manage to say. Kellen stops dead and bursts out laughing.
“Let me kiss you first, sweet woman,” he says, and does exactly that, slowly and thoroughly. It’s the type of kiss that promises more than kissing is coming. I pull myself up onto a tall stool before my knees give out from under me, and he steps forward into the gap between my legs. Our lips break contact momentarily. I’ve got a fistful of his shirt in my hand, but he resists my playful tug forward for another kiss.
“You said something about a couch?” His hand, which had been in the vicinity of my waist a moment ago, has slid upward and his thumb is stroking the underside of my breast through my dress.
“The office,” I reply. My hand is working its way down his chest, lingers for a moment on the waistband of his jeans, and moves lower still. He’s definitely ready for the couch.
“Oh, that’s a pull-out bed,” he says, startling me out of my explorations. I give him a long, hard look, evading his mouth when it moves in toward mine. Why is he so familiar with my aunt’s couch? Is sneaking women upstairs a regular occurrence for him? I didn’t even know it was a pull-out, and I’ve been spending a considerable amount of time sitting on it for the past two days.
“No, no, no,” he cries, horrified understanding blossoming on his face as he reads my skeptical expression. “I’ve never—I’ve never used it. I’ve just seen it a couple times. Roz used to crash on it when she’d do an overnight at the desk. I swear, Audrey. Shit, you gotta believe me.” There’s a hint of panic in his voice that convinces me of his sincerity, and I flash him a smile.
“All right, pull-out it is then.” The unintentional double entendre hits us both at the same time, and we have to cover our mouths to keep the noise of our laughter from carrying. Then his mouth is on mine again, this time with more urgency, and his thumb traces slow circles around my nipple.
True fact: sex is usually fair to middling for me. I can almost never get myself relaxed enough with whoever’s bare skin is pressed up against mine to surrender fully to the experience, and more often than not, end up feeling like I never quite got all the way there. In this moment, however, I feel like I’m so close to all the way there already that I’m going to embarrass myself and give him something to crow about until the end of time.
Thankfully, he breaks free, laces his fingers through mine, and pulls me toward the kitchen. We tiptoe through it and the staff room, up the back stairs, and down the hall to the office door.
“We need to be quiet,” I hiss. I turn the key in the knob, and the pop of the lock disengaging sounds as loud as a gunshot. Jana’s at the bottom of the back stairs, available for any late-night guest needs.
“No promises.” Kellen’s grinding into my back while I try to open the door, usher us both inside and close it again without any further noises. The moon is nearly full tonight, allowing us to make our way around the furniture without crashing into it. “There’s the couch I have absolutely no experience with,” he says, and pulls me down to sit beside him. I choke back laughter and try to lean back, hoping he’ll follow my lead and stretch his body over mine, but he resists. “Slow down,” he says into my ear, followed by a nip on my lobe. His hands are driving me mad—skirting all the places I want them most. Instead of pushing back further, I lunge forward, swing my leg over him so I’m straddling his hips, and grind into him the same way we’d begun when we were dancing in the pub.
“Fuck,” he mutters and pulls my mouth toward his. Taking this as a sign of encouragement, I begin to unbutton the short-sleeve shirt with the inn’s logo on the pocket he wears when he’s working. “Audrey, we have lots of time,” he says, but doesn’t try to stop me.
We don’t, we don’t, I want to shout, to grab him by the shoulders, and shake him. We might only have a couple weeks. Instead, I push his shirt off his shoulders. I want as much of this as I can get.
“I need you to make me come. Right now.” It’s not a request. Never have I been so bare about my needs with another person.
“Kiss me.” My urgency is apparent and there isn’t so much as a hint of playfulness in him now. One hand clutches my hair while his mouth takes over mine, and the other slips up the inside of my thigh and under the band of my boy shorts, tracing the strip of lace there for a moment with his thumb. “I’m going to need a better look at these in a minute,” he tells me, and the next thing I know, he’s giving me what I need, finally. I grit my teeth and press my lips together to keep from crying out, pushing my forehead hard into his chest.
“Better?” he asks when my legs have stopped trembling and my breath is a little less ragged. I nod. “I was actually hoping you’d say no because I’m only getting started,” he adds, pulling my dress up and over my head in one fluid movement. He gapes in surprise when he realizes I didn’t bother with a bra tonight. When I packed to come to Soberly, meeting someone like Kellen had been the furthest thing from my mind. I didn’t bring any nice matching sets.
He half-lifts me to fish his wallet out of his back pocket and throws a strip of foil packets on the cushion beside him.
“You’re not supposed to carry condoms around like that,” I say. I don’t care, but I want to tease him a bit. My franticness has abated, while his seems to have increased.
“I bought them yesterday.” I laugh quietly at this. I’d done the same thing when I’d bought my beach supplies. Hopefully, Marnie the pharmacist has more discretion than some of the other townspeople, at least when it comes to people’s purchases at the drugstore, because it wouldn’t take too much mental energy to add two and two together.
Kellen’s trying to maneuver himself out of his jeans with me still in his lap, with little success, so I raise myself up on my knees to help. However, this brings my chest up to eye level on him and distracts him entirely. His lips fix themselves around my nipple, drawing it into his mouth, where his tongue swirls and teases me until my breath is coming in short pants. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of foil ripping, then his hands peeling my underwear down to my knees. He grasps me by the hips to lower me down onto him and lets out a deep groan of relief as we move in rhythm together, the heat of our bodies combined, making us both slick with sweat. Although Kellen is silent, the way he touches me, moves beneath me, tells me more than words ever could.
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br /> “Audrey, I—” he buries his face into my neck, breathing hard. “Not yet.” he’s muttering into my skin. I grin and squeeze down on him. His body jerks convulsively under me, and the moment is my undoing as well. “What—the—fuck—” he says, half-laughing a moment later. “I wasn’t ready yet, woman.”
“Were you saying golf?” I ask him, smothering my own laughter.
“It’s what I think about when I want to…not do that,” he tells me. “Or, say, when I’m rubbing down a hot, half-naked woman with sunscreen, and trying to ignore her squirming every time my hands come anywhere near her ass.”
“I was not squirming,” I retort.
“I could see you clenching those same muscles you just used on me over and over. It was obvious as hell. Luckily, golf is the most boring thing I can imagine. Didn’t do a damn thing this time, though.”
“Sorry not sorry,” I say.
“You’re going to be so much trouble.” I can see his mock frown in the moonlight streaming through the balcony doors as he looks up toward the ceiling.
“If you don’t think you can handle me…” I start to pull myself off his lap, tugging at my underwear, hoping to provoke him. He doesn’t disappoint. Before I know what’s happening, he’s got me flipped onto my back on the couch, one strong hand pinning both of mine above my head.
“Let me show you how I’m going to handle you,” he says as his mouth travels down between my breasts, stopping for a moment to circumnavigate my navel before moving lower. His gaze never breaks from mine. “Then we’re pulling this bed out, and I’m going to continue the demonstration until we’re both exhausted. I don’t care if we bring the whole damn inn down around us.” I arch my hips up to meet him and close my eyes as his tongue hits home. I’m going to enjoy this demonstration very much.