As I wrapped my hand around the base, a bead of moisture glistened on the tip. I applied pressure, testing his reaction. He sucked in a breath. I took that as a sign to continue.
“I’m so amped up right now, I’m ready to shoot off like a rocket,” he said.
The strain in his voice was sensual. I liked being able to do this to him. I stroked up and down, swiping the moisture with my thumb. We both watched, our eyes locked on his manhood.
“Holy shit,” he breathed.
He thickened even more, his cock harder than ever. He growled again, his brow furrowing, and his muscles flexed.
“June, I’m gonna come.”
It was like he could barely get the words out. I didn’t stop. I stroked him faster, reveling at the feel of his cock pulsing in my hand. He grunted as a thick rope of come spurted out the tip. I kept going, nearly frantic at the heady rush of watching him come. Another pulse, and more come. Yet another. He grunted and groaned, his abs flexing, his body going rigid as he thrust against me.
I could feel when it was over, his cock softening slightly. I let go, realizing I was breathing as hard as he was.
“Fuck.” He leaned his head back against the couch. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Did that feel good?”
He grabbed me, pulling me close, and captured my mouth with his.
“That felt so good,” he said. “You?”
“So good.”
We glanced down between our still-clothed bodies.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said.
“I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”
A wide grin stole across his features. “I don’t mind a bit. How’d you like third base?”
“Third base is good.”
33
June
I expected to hear from the genetics lab about the DNA sample any day. But so far, no news. Not that I had any doubt what the results would show. Seeing the so-called Callie Kendall in person had only increased my confidence in my theory.
She did look remarkably like the Callie I remembered. Even I had to admit the resemblance was striking. But the doppelganger phenomenon was very real. Statistically speaking, most people on earth had at least one person who looked remarkably like them without sharing a close genetic relationship. I found it fascinating, and had even posted my picture on the Find My Twin website to see if my doppelganger could be found.
Despite the resemblance, I was certain I was right. And when I had proof, I’d be able to expose her.
Wednesday afternoon, I finished with work early. I decided to surprise George with his favorite meal—meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy. I got to work in the kitchen, preparing the meatloaf mixture and putting it in the oven to bake. Then I got started on the potatoes and gravy.
Jonah came into the kitchen while I was cooking.
“Hey June. That smells good.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry to say I won’t be able to share. I’m bringing the meal to George.”
“No big deal.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a container. “I meal prepped, so I’m good.”
“Your organizational skills are admirable, especially when it comes to your nutrition habits.”
“Thanks.” He plated his dinner and put it in the microwave. “So, the Do-Over Prom. That’s something else, huh? Is George taking you?”
I smiled as I stirred the gravy. “Yes, he asked me to accompany him. Do you plan to attend?”
He leaned against the kitchen counter and shrugged. “Maybe. I was thinking about asking Lacey Dickerson.”
“You don’t sound terribly enthusiastic.”
“Well, I’m not sure about dating right now. But it seems like everyone else is, so maybe I should give it a shot.”
“If you’re feeling left out, I can identify with that,” I said. “I suppose you’ve noticed I’m a little different from most people in Bootleg Springs. I know what it’s like to be a bit on the outside.”
“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, my siblings are great. I expected a lot more resistance when I first came here. But… I don’t know if this is where I’m meant to be.”
“And dating would complicate matters, especially if you found yourself in what you’d like to be a long-term relationship.”
“Yep, exactly.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
Jonah and Lacey Dickerson. It was hard to picture. She was the right age, certainly, just a year younger than me. Pretty, with blond hair and blue eyes. And single, which was an obvious prerequisite. But something about the notion of Jonah dating her sat wrong with me. I couldn’t pinpoint why. I didn’t typically have strong instincts when it came to human relationships.
Perhaps I was learning.
I was also learning that it wasn’t always best to say everything that came into my mind. This seemed like an instance when keeping my thoughts to myself would be prudent. I didn’t think Jonah should date Lacey. But it was likely that he needed to figure that out for himself.
“If you decide to move forward with your request, I hope she answers in the affirmative.”
“Thanks, Juney.” He took a deep breath through his nose. “That really does smell good. George is going to love it.”
“Thank you.” I turned off the heat and whisked the gravy a few more times. “I think so, too.”
* * *
When dinner was finished and packed in containers for transport, I went to George’s rental. I paused outside, looking at the small cabin. The location was excellent for a rental. Close to town. Partial view of the lake. But it was more vacation rental than permanent home.
He was making preparations to move to Bootleg, and when he did, I doubted he’d live here. I’d kept my eyes open for a suitable piece of real estate. A house, perhaps. Or maybe he’d want to do what Scarlett and Devlin were doing—buy land and build something to his particular taste.
I also wondered something else. What if he lived with me?
There was no doubt in my mind his decision to relocate to Bootleg Springs was at least eighty-seven percent due to my presence here. The other thirteen was a mix of the food at Moonshine Diner and the hot springs. But in large part, George was moving here for me.
It was a heady thought, that this man I admired—and was falling deeply in love with—wished to relocate to continue our relationship without the strain of distance.
His financial security seemed well-assured, so even in post-football retirement, I assumed he would live comfortably, whether or not he pursued another full-time career. And if he asked, I could help with his finances and investments. I was highly adept at it, having secured myself a number of lucrative assets and endeavors.
His move here made sense. Perhaps moving in with me made sense as well.
Was our relationship ready for that level of commitment? It wasn’t something I’d ever considered before. Generally, I preferred living alone. Jonah had proved to be a good roommate. He was quiet and kept to himself. But living with George would not be the same as living with a roommate. It would be truly sharing my space with another person. Opening up my life in a way I’d never done before.
I found I very much liked the idea.
Feeling a hint of euphoria at my daydreams of cohabitation, I gathered up the dinner I’d cooked and went to George’s door. Perhaps tonight I’d broach the subject.
George answered dressed in a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. Scarlett had once told me that you could discover everything you needed to know about a man by looking at him in a pair of gray sweats. I hadn’t understood what she meant—until this moment. He looked spectacular. The crisp t-shirt molded to his athletic frame, hinting at the lean, muscular body underneath. And those sweats. They sat low on his hips and showed the bulge of his manhood in a most enticing fashion.
“Oh, hey June.”
I gasped and snapped my gaze back to his face. “Hello.”
His expression was tense, his brow furrowed, but his eyes lit up as his nostrils flared. “Do I s
mell gravy?”
I held up the containers. “I brought dinner.”
“Wow, thanks, June Bug.” He stepped aside so I could enter and shut the door behind me. “That’s very sweet of you.”
Mellow hopped over, bouncing across the wood floor. “Hi, Marshmellow. Are you taking good care of George?”
She sniffed my foot.
“Here, let me take all that.” He grabbed our dinner and brought it into the kitchen.
I took off my cardigan and draped it over a chair. From where I was standing, I had a clear view into the single bedroom. George’s suitcase was on the bed.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“Yeah, I am. I was going to call you tonight and talk to you about it. I have to go back to Philly for a while.”
“You’re already packing.” I gestured toward the bedroom. “Is this trip imminent?”
“I leave in the morning.”
“Oh? How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure. A couple of weeks. Maybe longer. It depends.”
I felt a dip, as if my stomach had suddenly dropped. “That’s a significant amount of time. Where will you stay?”
“At my house. I pulled it off the market for the time being.”
“You’re not selling?”
He took a deep breath. “I will, eventually. I just can’t right now. I have to take care of some things first.”
“What things?”
“Just some things. Financial stuff.”
I didn’t like the turn this conversation had taken. George seemed hesitant, like he didn’t want to talk to me about this. But finances were one of my areas of expertise.
“George, if you’re having financial trouble, I could help.”
“Yeah, I know. There are just some things I need to handle.”
His tone of voice didn’t match his words. He was brushing the subject aside, but I could sense that there was more. It was as if something lurked beneath the surface, causing that shadow behind his eyes.
“Are you keeping your rental here?” I asked.
“No.”
“So you’re moving.” It wasn’t a question. “You’re moving back to Philadelphia.”
“No, that’s not what I said.”
“You’re giving up the rental, not selling your house, and going to live there for an indeterminate amount of time. That sounds like moving.”
“It’s not permanent,” he said. “Once I get things squared away, I’ll be in a position to come back to Bootleg. And I can come visit on the weekends. I’ll be here for the dance and everything.”
“The dance isn’t my biggest concern, I just…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say. I didn’t know how this was supposed to work. “What things do you need to handle? Why won’t you elaborate?”
He put his hands on his hips, still facing the window. “I’m fucked, June. That’s the problem. I’m good and fucked.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m in trouble with the IRS.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The tax evasion kind.”
“Tax evasion,” I said, more to myself than to him.
“I don’t want you getting wrapped up in this,” he said. “Turns out Andrea was fudging the numbers. She was underreporting my income, so it looked like I owed less. But she was taking the full amounts out of my bank account and pocketing the difference. To the IRS, it looks like I was lying on my taxes to get out of paying. In reality, I think Andrea’s been stealing.”
White hot anger snaked out from my chest, filling my veins with fire. I clenched my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms. “She what?”
“Yeah. And my dumb ass had no clue. I have to meet with my lawyer, and there’s going to be an audit. We’re trying to keep this out of the press, but a reporter called me this morning. My lawyer thinks someone at the IRS leaked the story. This is turning into a shitstorm. That’s why I have to go.”
“Indictment for tax evasion requires that the taxpayer knowingly and willfully committed errors over a period of time.”
“I’m well-aware of the definition at this point.”
“And the error amounts would need to be significant,” I said. “There has to be a way to track where Andrea was putting the money.”
“Yes, June, I know that. And we’re working on it.”
“How long have you known about this?”
“Does it matter? A while. Look, I’ll handle it. My life is in chaos right now and I need to get my shit together.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
That was what really bothered me. This was a problem I could have helped him through. I wasn’t a tax accountant, but I understood more than the average person.
“I didn’t want you to be involved,” he said. “This is serious shit, June.”
“I thought we were serious.”
“We are.” He turned to me and there was no mistaking the frustration in his voice. “I can’t fix this overnight. I have to get this squared away before I can move forward with you.”
I could feel the wall he’d erected between us as sure as if I was standing in front of actual brick. He’d kept this from me, didn’t want my help. And now he was leaving.
“I could have helped,” I said, although true as it was, the sentiment seemed useless now. “I have a better-than-average understanding of—”
“Damn it, June, I don’t need another accountant.”
I pinched my lips closed and stepped backward. “All right. I’ll let you handle it.”
“Good.”
I no longer wanted to sit and have dinner with him. I was confused, but more than that, I was angry. He didn’t need another accountant? Was that all I was good for?
“I’m sure you’re very busy packing. I’ll just leave the meal and let you get back to what you were doing.”
He didn’t argue, or try to get me to stay. So I left.
34
George
I wasn’t used to being lonely and bored, but sitting in my house in Philly, I was both. For a decade, I’d had practices and workouts. Training sessions and PT appointments. Team meetings, game film, training camp. I’d had media appearances and charity events. Photo or commercial shoots for endorsements. I’d had plenty to keep me busy, even in the off-season.
Now I had too much time. Too much quiet. One day back in Philly and I was pacing the floors, wishing my meeting with Marc was earlier.
My house here felt so impersonal. It was nice, I supposed. Stylish. But I hadn’t chosen much of the furniture. It looked like some designer’s take on what a man’s house should be. Lots of gray and blue. Pieces of my career—jerseys, awards, photos—hung on the walls. But even those things didn’t feel like me. Not anymore.
Maybe I should have stayed in Bootleg.
I brushed that thought aside. Staying wasn’t an option. Not when my life was in shambles. But I couldn’t get the memory of June’s face out of my head. When I’d told her what was happening—and that I had to leave—she’d looked devastated. And coming from a woman who didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve, that look of raw hurt on her face had been like a punch to the gut.
It wasn’t that I wanted to leave her. Not even temporarily. But what I wanted and the reality of my messed-up life were two different things.
Shelby texted around noon, demanding to know what was going on. Turned out, she was in Philly for the week. When I told her where I was, she answered with I’m coming over.
Although I had a feeling my sister was going to lay into me for being such an idiot, I didn’t tell her no. Even a lecture about Andrea was better than being lost in my own head, driving myself crazy.
She arrived about half an hour later. With cookies. I really did love my sister.
“Here,” she said, shoving the box of snickerdoodles at me. “They’re from the store, so not as good as Mom’s. But I figured you could use some
cookie love right about now.”
“Thanks.”
She took off her jacket and hung it up by the door. “You really need to tell me what’s going on, though. You’re in the news, Mom’s in a panic, and Dad decided to remodel the guest bath again.”
“That’s not good.”
Our father was many things, but handy was not one of them. Unfortunately for our mom, when he was stressed, he tended to try to remodel their house.
“No, it’s not. I think I talked him out of trying to take out a wall, though.”
“I’ll call him,” I said. When I’d spoken to my parents a few days ago, I’d tried to minimize the situation so they wouldn’t worry. But the story had hit the press. I couldn’t keep this quiet now even if I tried.
I walked into the kitchen and set down the cookies. Shelby followed. Grateful as I was for her to bring something to cheer me up, I wasn’t in the mood.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked.
She pulled out a chair at the dining room table I’d hardly used. “Nope. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“All right.” I took the seat across from her. “So I guess you know I’m in trouble with the IRS.”
“That’s true?” she asked, her voice tinged with shock. “I thought it had to be a rumor.”
“Nope, not a rumor. I’m being investigated for tax evasion.”
“This has to be a mistake.”
“Thank you for not assuming I actually did lie on my taxes,” I said. “Because I didn’t. Not on purpose, at least. Andrea did, though.”
“Wait, Andrea lied on your taxes? The press is saying your assistant might be involved, but I thought it had to be someone else.”
“It was Andrea. She underreported my income so it looked like I owed less. Then she pocketed the difference from the tax payments.”
“Holy shit, GT.”
“I know. And I don’t need to hear that I’m a dumbass for letting it happen. I realize that.”
“I wasn’t going to say you’re a dumbass,” she said. “Andrea worked for you for years. You obviously thought you could trust her.”
Bourbon Bliss: Bootleg Springs Book Four Page 23