by K. A. Tucker
“So . . .” I hesitate. “Has Dad visited you lately?”
She sighs into my ear. “Your father and I agreed to give each other some real space. That means him not coming out here.”
It also means they can’t work things out. It also means my life may be turning upside down when I leave Wawa. My shoulders sag with dismay. Leaving will already be hard enough. “You haven’t been lonely out there, all by yourself?”
“Me?” She laughs. “No, darling. Jackie came out for a few days. And I’ve been at the club almost every day. My tennis game has improved. This instructor I have now is . . . well, he has definitely taught me a lot I didn’t know.”
“That’s good. Maybe we can start playing singles again.”
“Hmm? Yes. Maybe. So, listen, I’m going to be heading off to Paris on Monday for two weeks.”
I frown. “By yourself?” How hurt is Dad going to be that she refused to go with him in May, but is jetting off now?
“Uh . . . no. Jackie said she’d come with me,” she says, almost as if she’s deciding then and there that she’ll invite her sister along. “But your dad is in Lennox and not traveling. Should you need anything while I’m gone, you can call him.”
“Okay. I guess?”
“Good. Love you, darling. See you in three weeks!”
I hang up, the reminder that the end of summer is looming nearer making my chest ache. Just three weeks left with Kyle, and then we have to figure out how we’ll manage a long-distance relationship until we’re back here next summer.
Kyle sidles up beside me, roping his arms around my waist. “Why so sad?” he whispers, kissing the side of my neck. This past week has been a test of teenage hormonal fortitude—of seeing him but not touching him, of pretending that we’re not aching for another Saturday night.
His hands have been on me since the last camper rolled out of the parking lot today—a thumb stroking the small of my back while Darian presented this week’s counselor stars; a palm warming my thigh as we inhaled the grilled cheese sandwiches that Russell whipped up for us; fingers digging deep into the back pockets of my jean shorts before we got in his car.
“There’s only three weeks left.” I don’t hide the dismay from my voice.
“I know.”
I steal a kiss. “It’s so hard, not being able to do that all week.”
He steals one for himself. “Unless we risk it and sneak out at night.”
“It’s not worth it,” I remind him with a knowing gaze. Kyle needs this job.
“Anything that means I get more time with you is worth it.” He presses his body into mine.
My cheeks flush. “Wow, you’re . . . ready.”
His chuckle sends shivers down my spine. “I can’t help it. That’s what you do to me every time I see you . . . or think about you . . . or do this.” He kisses me deeply on the mouth, and I forget for a moment that we’re standing in a parking lot, with people milling around us.
I can’t wait to get back to his cabin. “Do you think Shane’s gone yet?”
“Probably.” He checks his watch. “We’ll head back as soon as Ashley and Eric are done.”
“What are they doing?”
“I don’t know about Ash, but Eric’s buying condoms. Don’t worry, we’re good for tonight.”
I struggle to hide my smile. Never did I think I’d end up with a boyfriend—let alone needing condoms—when my mother dropped me off at Wawa five weeks ago.
“But I thought you liked the ribbed ones, Freckles!” Eric hollers. We turn to see him trailing Ashley out of the convenience store, holding up a box, earning several glances from people nearby. “They’re for your pleasure!”
“That must have been Avery,” Ashley throws back, giving him the finger before storming toward us, chips and licorice in hand, her cheeks bright red.
I feel my eyebrows pop with surprise. “Did Ashley and Eric hook up?” She would have told me, wouldn’t she?
“Nope. And I’m guessing he just officially killed any chance he had. The guy has no tact. What an idiot,” he mutters, but he’s grinning. “Come on, let’s get back.”
“I think my parents are getting a divorce.” I stare up at the underside of the top bunk in Kyle’s bed, my head resting against the crook of his arm.
“Why do you think that?” Kyle asks, then shoves a handful of chips into his mouth.
“Because my dad cheated on my mom and she’s not in any rush to forgive him.”
He chews slowly. Finally, he swallows and asks, “Do you blame her?”
“No. I guess not. But she’s been at our summer house since she dropped me off here, and now she’s taking off to Paris next week. And she sounded happy on the phone today.”
“And that’s bad?” He offers me the bag of chips.
I grab a few. “Well, yeah. If she’s happier without him, then they’re going to divorce and my entire life is going to change. I’m not even sure how, exactly. I already don’t see my father much as it is.” Will I be taking turns living in their separate houses? Will we keep our house in Lennox or sell it? Oh God, what if they remarry? What kind of stepparents will I end up with?
“If it does happen, you’ll adjust and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want to have to adjust, though. Why are they doing this? Why did my father have to . . .” I don’t want to finish that sentence. Talking about my parents having sex with each other—let alone anyone else—makes me cringe.
“Were they happy?”
I consider that. “I don’t know. My dad’s never home, so . . .”
“Maybe that’s the real issue.”
I sigh. “I think you may be right.”
When I pass on more chips, Kyle tosses the bag to the floor beside us. A few chips spill out, but he doesn’t seem bothered. “When my dad went to jail, I thought my mom would divorce him right away. She keeps saying she will, that we’ll pack up and move far away from the whole mess, but . . . she hasn’t yet.”
“Where would you go, if you could?”
He drags a fingertip along my forearm. “My vote would be Lennox.”
I smile. “Good choice.”
“But she always talks about going somewhere warm, where there’s no snow.”
“That sounds far.” A pang stirs in my chest.
“Don’t worry. We’re not going anywhere.”
I stretch my neck to kiss his jawline. “For what it’s worth, try to convince her to move to Lennox. That way we won’t have to figure out these three-hour drives.” Where will we even stay on those weekends? I guess I can book a hotel for us on my card. What kind of hotels are there in Poughkeepsie?
“I’ll do my best.” He dips his head to capture my mouth with his.
“You’re salty,” I murmur, running my tongue over his lips before flicking the ring.
He groans. “I love it when you do that.”
“What . . . this?” I twirl my tongue around the ring again.
His arm tightens around my body. “Yeah, that. Your tongue on anything, actually,” he says, his voice strained, his breathing turning ragged. I can always tell when Kyle is turned on, just by those two things.
I bite my lip as I feel the flush touch my cheeks. Kyle’s hooded gaze settles on mine as I reach down to run my hand over him once before slipping it beneath the waistband of his shorts and wrapping my fingers around him.
He inhales sharply and then lifts his hips to push his shorts down, before settling back. He presses his lips against my forehead as my hand sets to work, reveling in the feel of his velvety skin and the way he naturally reacts to me.
I did this for Trevor, but I didn’t enjoy it a tenth as much as I enjoy doing it for Kyle now. Though, Trevor was angling for more than my hand every time. He deserved a damn medal for how hard he tried. I always said no and he ended up pouting.
But the idea of my mouth on Kyle—any part of him—stirs my blood.
I pull myself up and onto my elbow.
“What’s
wrong?” Kyle asks, his fingers skating over my arm.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just want to try something. Okay?”
He frowns curiously. “Okay.”
I pull my hair over one shoulder and then shift my body and lean down to take him into my mouth.
Kyle hisses.
I smile sheepishly at him. “I’ve never done this before, so—”
“Don’t worry, you’re good. Just keep going. Please,” he begs in a whisper.
Chapter 21
NOW
Kyle’s intense gaze lingers on me as I approach the security desk on Monday morning. We said goodbye last night just before ten P.M., after gorging on pizza and hearing about Jeremy’s recent exploits. Kyle walked me to the taxi and left me with a searing kiss, only to then text me well into the night.
It’s been exactly ten hours and seven minutes since his lips last touched mine, and I’m anxious to feel them on me again. In fact it’s all I can think about.
I’m an addict and Kyle is my drug of choice.
“Hello? You wanted my ID?” the man in front of Kyle says, waving his driver’s license in the air, irritation in his voice.
Kyle clears his throat as he collects it. “Uh . . . yeah, sorry. Who are you here to see again?” His eyes flash to me before refocusing on the visitor, his lips curling in a small smile.
“Good morning, Miss Calloway,” Gus greets, half his attention on the underground parking entrance monitor. “You sure are sparkling this morning.”
“I am?” I glance down to take in my forest-green silk blouse and black pencil skirt. It’s then that I realize I’m grinning like a fool, and I feel my cheeks begin to flush.
Gus reaches across the desk to hit a button. On the monitor, the arm lifts, allowing the car through. “Good weekend, I take it?”
“It was amazing, actually. Best one I’ve had in years,” I say, loud enough for Kyle to hear. Like, thirteen years.
“I’ll bet,” Gus murmurs knowingly.
“And you? How was your weekend?”
He shrugs. “The usual. Grandkids, church, poker. Not at the same time.”
“Sounds relaxing.” I steal another glance at Kyle. He’s busy photocopying the visitor’s ID, and there are two other people waiting behind that guy. I won’t get a chance to talk to him this morning, I realize with disappointment. I definitely won’t get a chance to kiss him.
“Renée, David’s new assistant, is already in. Mark took her upstairs.” Gus peels the lid off his paper coffee cup to finish the last drops. “Fifty bucks says she runs for the hills by the end of the week.”
“I’d take that bet if I felt comfortable taking your money, Gus. I think she’s going to work out just fine.”
“If you say so,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with doubt.
“Have a great day.” I swipe my badge, stealing one last glance at Kyle.
The green light flashes, allowing me through.
“That was some dress, by the way,” Gus calls out.
I turn back to give him a questioning look.
“That silvery number you had on this past Saturday. You know, while you were sittin’ in my chair, stuffing your face with one of those big, juicy Alejandro burgers you keep giving me so much grief about.”
“How did you . . .” My words fade as I peer up at the security camera that’s trained on the lobby.
“Sometimes I like to skim the surveillance tapes from the weekend shifts, especially when I’ve got a newbie working. Want to make sure they’re not doing something they’re not supposed to be doin’.”
Kyle’s eyes flash to mine and I see the “oh shit” look of panic in them.
“Well, it’s a good thing Kyle is proving to be such a good employee,” I say evenly.
Gus makes a sound, something that seems like agreement but could also be otherwise. “Also explains why my chair was all out of whack. Took me twenty minutes to get it sorted this morning.”
“Oh, sorry. You know . . . long legs and all.”
He chuckles. “Have a good day, Miss Calloway. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret.” Big brown eyes flash to me and he waits a few beats. “About Alejandro’s.”
I know for a fact he’s not talking about the burger.
Mark trails me into my office.
“Your morning reports are in the blue folder on the left. I’ve already summarized the market stats and the PowerPoint deck for your ten A.M. is finished . . .” He goes on and on, briefing me on everything he’s done to help me prepare for another long, grueling week ahead.
“Thank you. As always, you’re on top of things.” Whereas I am not. I plan on hiding in my office and reviewing the rest of this construction proposal from KDZ. “Oh, I need a contact at our corporate cell phone company. Whoever manages Calloway’s contract. Not the account handler but the executive at the top of that chain. And I need that number and name ASAP.” I’m hoping Kyle’s right and Tripp is stupid enough to have incriminating text conversations on his company phone.
Mark nods, his brow furrowed with determination.
“How’s everything on that front going so far?” I nod to where Renée sits, her long blonde hair pulled into a chic topknot, scowling at her monitor. She’s wearing a tomato-red dress that, oddly enough, reminds me of the Wawa staff T-shirts, only the color is flattering on her.
Mark follows my gaze. “Good so far, but David’s not in yet. Carla from HR asked me if I could show Renée the ropes this morning. You know—her computer, and security pass, and all that. I figure it’ll take an hour at most. You okay with that? After I get this contact for you, of course.”
“Yes, because the sooner she’s up to speed, the sooner David will stop pestering us.” I drop my bag and sink into my chair with a heavy sigh as I take in the pile of work already forming for me. More signatures, more approvals, more, more, more.
And then I notice the packet of sour apple Fun Dip in my silver spoon figurine, and I start to laugh. We never did get a chance to eat those last night.
“Yeah, I noticed that on your desk this morning. Do you know who left it for you?”
“I do, actually.”
Mark lingers another moment, eyeing me carefully. “You seem awfully chipper this morning.”
“Do I?” I can’t keep the private smile from curling my lips. Maybe because I haven’t felt this alive and free since I was sixteen years old.
His gaze flickers to the candy pack again. “So, I guess that person works at Calloway.”
He’s fishing for details.
“Don’t you have a number to find me?” I remind him, though I wink to let him know I’m not bothered by his nosiness.
“Right.” He’s out the door in a flash.
I type out a text to Kyle’s number:
Two razz apple Fun Dips says you won’t let me take you out to dinner tonight.
The answer comes almost immediately:
Four says you won’t ask me to go home with you after.
I quickly respond:
Meet me at eight at my place. And bring your work clothes with you for the morning.
Two knocks rattle the glass door. I look up in time to see my dad poke his head in.
“David has a new assistant?”
“Yes, he hired her late last week. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”
“He called, but I was preoccupied. So what’d you think of the proposal?”
I sigh heavily. “Good morning to you, too, Dad,” I offer, not bothering to hide my annoyance. It’s barely eight a.m.
He makes a point of slowly saying, “Good morning, Piper. What did you think of the proposal?”
“I’m still reviewing it.”
“But so far . . .”
“I’m still reviewing.” And still annoyed—at Dad for what he did thirteen years ago, but more at the fact that I’m twenty-nine years old and here I am, hiding my love interest from my parents. “I only just got it late on Saturday, remember? And I was busy y
esterday. I had lunch with Mom.”
Dad makes a sound, the same sound he always makes when Mom is mentioned—a mixture of disapproval and scorn.
“She’s dating someone,” I offer, unprompted. “She sounds happy.”
“Well . . .” He searches my area rug for something to say. “She’s not getting any younger. Maybe this one will stick. I’m sitting down with Tripp this morning at eleven to discuss the Marquee. You should be there if you can make it work in your calendar.”
“I can’t,” I begin to say, but he’s out the door and marching to his office.
I groan. My women’s network meeting is at eleven and, no, I can’t just bump everyone. But I also need to be in this meeting with Tripp and my father. My father may have acknowledged his own part in sabotaging my importance in the company, but that doesn’t mean he won’t sign off on KDZ’s proposal without me.
“Mark!” I holler, rubbing the back of my neck as tension mounts.
Wishing I were back in Kyle’s bed, with his arms wrapped around me and the door to the outside world firmly shut.
“Knock, knock,” I announce, strolling into Dad’s palatial office at exactly eleven A.M., to see the back of his throne-like leather chair. He’s looking out over the view of Lennox’s downtown core, his phone pressed to his ear.
“I’ve got a meeting now. I’ll call you later?” he murmurs, and I know without a doubt that it’s not a business call. Especially when he releases a low, playful chuckle.
“How old is this one?” I ask, after he ends the call.
He spins around to face me. “I thought we were staying out of each other’s relationships.”
I settle into the chair directly across from him. “Is she at least older than me?” I dread the day I find out otherwise. The day he becomes that stereotype.
“Have I dated anyone younger than you yet?”
“No. Key word being yet.”
He regards me evenly. “If I told you she’s thirty-five and she makes me happy, would you approve?”
“So she’s the same age as your son. I wonder if they went to school together. Maybe they dated.”
“And this is why I don’t tell you about the women I see,” he mutters, annoyed.