by Trent Evans
“Yep — but he’s real, all right.” Keihl slipped the card over, displaying the address listed. His finger tapped it. “Any idea where this is?”
A slow smile creased Tom’s lips. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.”
“That’s good — because Google doesn’t. Have you ever known an address that simply wasn’t listed? At all?”
Tom took another sip, his eyes sparking through the shimmer of the steam. “Could be a typo?”
“Or it could be something else.” Keihl plucked the card from the table, slipping it back in his wallet. “You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”
“You didn’t call me here just to ask me about this, did you?”
The front door clanged open, the bells above it clattering harshly.
“No, but I need an answer on this, Tom. Stan said—”
“Did you say ‘Stan’?” Tom put his coffee down, his throat working as he swallowed.
“Yep — his name is Stanton Broughton.” Keihl looked out the window, the cloudy glass badly needing a cleaning, the sun outside a blinding reflection off the windshield of one of the parked cars crowded at the curb. “I wouldn’t normally be allowed to tell you that — but he seemed to know you.”
Tom chuckled, the sound almost inaudible over the noise all around them. “I didn’t think he’d pull something like this.”
Keihl glared at his friend. “Like what? Threaten his own lawyer?”
“Did he?”
“I’m not stupid, Tom. He said a lot more than his words did.” Keihl raised his own coffee in a mock acknowledgment. “Message received, loud and clear, Cap’n.”
Tom shook his head. “It’s not a threat. Stan can be… blunt.”
“I’d have gone with ‘asshole’, but okay.”
“What did he say to you?”
“I think Ella got his attention.”
Keihl thought about her, probably slaving away at her desk right this minute. She was too young to get mixed up in this. Whatever the fuck “this” actually was. Probably time to assign her to something else.
He frowned, already imagining the avalanche of snark she’d unleash on him when he gave her the news. She was on the trail, and she liked it. Most of all, she liked that she wasn’t shaken off that trail, no matter how frustrating it was. Like he’d said — she’d make a damned good lawyer someday.
“Coal Creek?”
Keihl nodded.
“It’s a big development. It’s natural for a developer to get a little anxious about it, isn’t it?”
“Goddammit, Tom, can we stop this shit?” Keihl leaned forward, lowering his voice. “What the fuck is going on here? I’ve got a client threatening me one minute, then the next inviting me to some secret who-knows-what. If what Ella found checks out, Stan’s running… I don’t even know. And that’s what’s bothering me the most. I’ve had Ella on this for weeks — and that girl has more brains than the two of us put together — and she still knows about as much about Stan as she did at the beginning.”
“So you’ve got her checking up on Stan then?” Tom spun his coffee cup slowly in his hand. “No wonder his feathers got ruffled.”
“No, not him — the Dominion Trust.”
Tom sighed. “Would’ve been better if you’d talked to me about it.”
“Kind of hard to do when I’m not talking to you, isn’t it?”
“You have a point.”
“No matter how far she digs — it’s just more foundations, more associations, more dead-ends.” Keihl pointed at his friend. “Tell me what’s going on, man. I can take it.”
Tom crossed his arms over his chest. “Why else are we here?”
“Tom, I want—”
“Just tell me. I know it’s not just because of this.” He lowered his chin. “You don’t usually come to an OB for PI shit.”
Keihl blew out a breath, looking around. “You wanna get out of here? I feel like I’m in an American Pie sequel.”
Tom laughed, then threw back the rest of his coffee. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
“No, I’ll drive — you talk.”
* * *
“Aren’t we a little old to be doing this shit?”
Tom slipped his mirrored sunglasses higher on his nose. “Never too old to appreciate beauty, my friend.”
The city wasn’t particularly renowned for its beautiful women, but on a sunny late spring day, with the numerous joggers, and walkers, and a few who simply sauntered — the ones who just wanted to be seen — Waterfront Park was one of the city’s best kept secrets for appreciation of the female form.
Keihl had miraculously found some parking behind the food truck lot, squeezing the F-250 into a spot probably better suited to a Prius. They’d sat down at one of the few open benches just under the massive, twisted steel hulk of a temporary modern art exhibit. A young man with a beard sufficiently hipster bushy snoozed on his back a few feet away on the grass.
“How is she?” Tom asked.
“I think I know what you meant now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she’s… never looked better.”
“Still The Game then? Or have things changed?”
Keihl laughed. “Oh they’ve changed all right. I can hardly believe it.”
“That bad? I’m surprised… I’d thought she was one who’d respond”—Tom lowered his voice—”to what you want.”
“It’s not bad at all, Tom. It’s better than I’d ever fucking imagined it could be.”
Tom chuckled, the relief plain. “I’m glad to hear it. So, why this then?”
“You’re really not gonna tell me, are you?”
Tom looked out across the river. “It’s one of the Trust properties. Sort of a… club, I guess. Hard to explain.”
“I’m all ears, asshole.”
“Be patient.”
“I think I’ve had the patience of a fucking saint.”
A club was interesting; Keihl was picturing a room full of stuffed-shirted blue blood ass wipes. Not his speed, that’s for sure. But he had a feeling a “clubhouse” at the Trust was something entirely different. And he’d be a fucking liar if he wasn’t eager to find out just how different.
Hipster boy turned over, his back facing them, a small American flag patch on the coat laid under him a bright burst of color in the sunshine.
“Come over to the house,” Tom said. “Both of you.”
“Why?”
“Kirsten told you, didn’t she?”
Keihl picked up his unopened beer, handing the other can to Tom. “Want one?”
He waved a hand. “Can’t. On call.”
“I wasn’t even sure what to think about it when she told me. In a way… I guess it was a relief.”
“Guilt assuaged, right?”
“Something like that.” Keihl took a deep breath. “I hated… not having her be a part of that. A part of everything. So, yeah, maybe I was pissed for about half a second. Then it was a huge relief. Then she got talking, and it was a lot better than relief.”
“Come over, Keihl. Bring her. I know she’ll want to.”
“And do… what, exactly?”
“Whatever you want. Whatever she wants. Just answer questions, if that’s all you feel comfortable with.”
“We’re not having an orgy, Tom.”
His friend’s laughter boomed out across the grass, hipster boy rolling over onto his belly, arm over his head as he grumbled.
“No orgies. Of that you can be sure. Idiot.”
Keihl smiled. “What about Sharon? After the tennis thing…”
Now, after time had elapsed, Keihl did feel a little sheepish about it. He’d overreacted — he could see that now.
“Are you kidding? She’s probably sweating Kirsten right now. She’s wanted this for a long time.”
“Why though?”
Tom looked down, then nodded over at hipster boy. “You think he’s really awake, listening to this shit?”
“If he is, he�
��s getting an earful today, isn’t he?”
“Sharon wants everything out in the open — no more hiding shit. And so do I.”
“That makes three of us.”
“So you’ll do it?” Tom clapped a hand on Keihl’s shoulder, giving him a good-natured shake.
“I’m not the problem — but Kirsten might be.”
“So we just need to convince that lovely wife of yours, right?”
“More than that. She’s pregnant, Tom. This is a lot to take in, even for her.”
“Ah, that’s it then. The other reason.” Tom shook his head. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize it.”
“Realize what, asshole?”
“You’ve got questions. She’s got questions, right?”
How the hell did he know? Had he done this before? Was Tom some sort of fucking Dom Whisperer? Keihl still wasn’t sure what the right thing to do here was. Maybe it was pure insanity to pursue this kind of relationship with her when she was pregnant? How many times had he told himself it was best to just hang it up, put it on hold, something best taken up again on the other side? And then how many times had he seen the look in her eye as she’d knelt at his feet, taken his cock between those lips, and known that he could never have anything that even came close to this connection with his wife. There had to be a way — but first he had to find out if it was even safe.
Without that, he’d never pursue it. Her safety, and the child’s safety came before anything else. Nothing else was even a close second.
At least you got that part correct, idiot.
“I don’t like her OB. Total stick in the mud, tight ass. I think if we hit her with some of the questions we’ve got, she’d call the cops on me and whisk my wife off into Witness Protection.
“Are you wanting a referral… or something else?”
Keihl rubbed the back of his neck, a bead of sweat tracking down the side of his neck. “I don’t even know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I guess — can we come visit you? Together? I want to be sure we ask all the questions. I don’t… I don’t know what’s permitted.”
Tom turned to him. “In our world, what’s permitted? A lot. Pretty much everything, to be honest.”
“Jesus.”
“I think you already knew that though, didn’t you? Or you had a pretty good idea. Why else would you be pressing so hard for answers?”
“I don’t know about that.” Keihl took a swig of his now warm beer, grimacing at the bitterness. “But I’ve gotta do something. That OB of hers… just isn’t gonna work.”
“Will she be okay with a male OB? Especially one she already knows?”
Anything would be better than Brunhilda the OB — but it wasn’t going to be Keihl’s feet going into the stirrups. Would Kirsten even entertain the idea of Tom examining her? Keihl paused a moment, trying to gauge what he actually felt about the idea himself, listening for that small, quiet voice inside. Yes, he did feel jealousy at the idea — but it wasn’t all he felt. If he was there, with her at the time, right there at her side, he’d not only be okay with it, but it might actually be intriguing. She was his, and he intended to make sure she felt it at all times — and in ways he hadn’t even thought of yet.
But there was the pleasure of sharing that which is yours. Was that the genesis of the attraction to the idea here? It was undeniable — the thought held an appeal to him. It wasn’t something he’d ever really thought would be an actual turn-on though. Until that very moment, that is.
Was it normal for such an idea to be something he found… erotic?
You passed normal a long ago, Keihl.
“Honestly, I have no idea if she’ll go for it, Tom. Really, I don’t. To even contemplate it should be absurd… but it’s not.” Keihl looked down, shaking his head. “Maybe after we talk it over, she’ll think about it. I know she’s ready to jump ship on that OB though. Kirsten’s a lot more curious about her questions than she’s letting on. There’s a chance she’d consider it — I just don’t know how big a chance. Or maybe I’m fucking kidding myself.”
“Bring Kirsten this weekend then. My place. Just you two, Sharon and me. No pressure, no weirdness. Just talking. Okay? Maybe we’ll bring it up. Maybe she’ll want to talk with me alone about it?”
The flare of possessive jealousy within him was so strong, Keihl almost shuddered with it, fixing Tom with a hard glare. “Not without me you won’t.”
Tom held up a hand. “Relax, tiger — nobody’s stealing your toy.” He gave Keihl a frank, open smile. “It’s good that you’re so protective of her — even from me. I’d never hurt her, but she needs that from you. She needs that rock, that — this is gonna sound stupid — she needs that champion to look out for her.”
“If we come up, will Sharon keep her clothes on?”
“Do you want her to?”
“It’s not about what I want anymore.”
“Nice dodge.” Tom laughed, looking away. “Bloodsucking…”
“Just talk first.” He stood up, straightening his back, then looking down at Tom. “Just talk, then questions, then… I don’t fucking know.”
“Deal. Are you ready for the deep end again?”
“I am. I just hope Kirsten is too.”
Chapter Twenty Six
It wasn’t the first time Kirsten had felt a spike of envy for the gorgeous blonde.
Sharon fixed the last drink, stirring the ice of her own Margarita. She flashed a little smile at Kirsten. “Be right back. The men are probably getting thirsty. I don’t want to be in trouble right off the bat.”
Kirsten couldn’t help but watch the sway of the trim backside, the curves encased in a pale gray floor length dress. The slit in the side — all the way up to the hip — revealed a smooth, tanned thigh as Sharon turned, pressing her ass against the door out to the living room, a drink in either hand.
What the hell are you doing here, Kirsten?
Of course, she should have known. Or maybe she did know, and the truth of it was something she wasn’t quite ready to let out into the light of day. Why had she agreed to this? Was it because she’d always wondered what went on behind closed doors between Sharon and Tom? Or was it something much more?
“Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered, blowing on her coffee. She wished it was at least leaded.
Sharon breezed back into the kitchen, two points of color high in her cheeks, her blue eyes bright. She pulled up one of the high padded leather chairs, seating herself at the other end of the pale wood of the butcher’s block dominating the center of the kitchen.
“Did they approve?”
Sharon nodded. “Thankfully. I know how they are — they get to talking and it’s as if we’re not even there anymore. You know?”
“I have a hard time believing Tom would ever know you weren’t there.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Sharon had the courtesy to blush. “I’ll bet Keihl can’t keep his hands off of you. You look great! I can’t believe your hair.”
Kirsten couldn’t believe it either. She’d read about it, heard the stories from other women about this radiant head of hair pregnant women developed, but like a lot of what she’d heard, she chocked it up to mostly sentimentality and simple exaggeration.
But Sharon was right about one thing — Keihl couldn’t keep his hands off of her. Especially her hair.
Kirsten twirled a strand of it, looking over at Sharon. “I don’t even do anything different to it. Shampoo, conditioner, that’s it.”
Sharon slid from her stool, sipping from her drink. She reached out. “Can I? I’ve gotta feel it.”
“Have at it.” Kristen shrugged, leaning her head to the side so that Sharon’s fingers could feel the weight of her hair, rub a lock between her fingers. “I’m used to it by now. I think Keihl’s getting obsessed with it more every day though.”
During the past couple of weeks the changes in her hair seemed to really come on strong. The once flat black color had turned almo
st inky, seeming to absorb light, yet shine with a brilliance that she’d never seen before. It was smoother, healthier, thicker — though she still didn’t see how that was possible.
Hormones did have a few pleasant side effects after all.
Yes, like the one throbbing between your thighs. Did you forget that one, Kirsten?
How could she? Keihl may have begun to obsess about Kirsten’s hair, but her own obsession — with orgasms — was still in full swing. It was all she could do to make it through the day sometimes at work without thinking about it. She had to consciously steer her mind to other subjects when her lust reared its alluring, powerful head, making her feel deliciously — and dangerously — out of control, wanton, even slutty. How many times had she walked by that young stud they’d just hired out of B school for one of the junior account rep positions? She thanked God every time he left the office, because it was one less sight to stir up a lust that seemed to be on a constant simmer, always threatening to boil over at even the sight of a tight male ass, the bulge of biceps, a lean, powerful chest.
Apparently, pregnant horn-dog mode wasn’t a passing phase, at least not for Kirsten. Had the books said it would be quite this bad? No. No way in hell.
Sharon hopped back onto her seat, her gleaming nails drumming on the wood of the block. “Beautiful. Makes me remember my last. Tom… he was a lot like Keihl, actually, now that I think of it.”
“Oh?”
Kirsten knew this subject was liable to go down dangerous lust-provoking roads, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Do you brush it?”
Kirsten nodded. “It’s thicker now, but for some reason it doesn’t tangle as much. How is that even possible? If the cosmetic companies could bottle up and sell whatever hormone does this, I think they’d rule the planet.”
Sharon laughed, using a long finger to stir the ice in her glass. “Tom… he bought a hairbrush for me when I was pregnant with Connor. One of those big wide ones, with the varnished wood handle? I loved it.”
“I need to get one of those.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Kirsten.” Sharon fixed her with a glinting gaze. “He brushed my hair with that thing — then he spanked me with it.”