I don’t know what I like the most, that he’s taking charge, his body’s weight, or how he devours me. This is a bad idea. I should stop him, but I can't reason over the heart drumming, stomach leaping, and knees weakening that he’s causing.
He pulls back slowly, letting my hands go. He looks at me and whispers, “I could give you a million reasons for you to stay, but I won’t force you. The door is open. The offer is for you to stay because this is too good to waste. It is there for you to grab.”
The cocky voice is gone, replaced by his boyish grin.
He places his palms against the wall. The space between us is just the length of his arms, but it feels too far away. This is what I’m talking about. I’m going to get used to him, and when he’s gone…
“Is this kind of sex normal for you?” he asks. “Intense, charged with passion, and out of this world.”
“Like almost fairy-tale magical?” I ask, trying to find a better, more mature way to describe it, but honestly, I can’t.
“Yeah, let’s go with that,” he concedes. “It’s a first for me, and I owe it to myself to explore further. Just let this happen. This isn’t anything more than…strangers with benefits.”
I swallow hard, hypnotized by his gaze. “So, no friends. Just a booty call.”
He chuckles. “Well, soon it’ll change to friends. I just met you, so I can’t just call you that, can I?”
“What does this entail?” I ask curiously, not listening to reason.
“Unlimited hookups, a good time, and I might even have your car washed during the winter.” He winks at me.
“Tempting,” I mumble. “What if one of us wants out of the arrangement?”
“We’re adults, Leyla,” he says. “We discuss it. If we’re doing this, we won’t add any complications. We speak the truth. If you need more, you come to me and request it. If I can’t give it to you, we call it quits.”
“What if it is the other way around?” I ask. “If you want more and I refuse to give it to you?”
“Good point,” he responds. “I doubt that’ll happen, but the same rules apply.”
“Do you have this kind of arrangement with other women?”
He shakes his head.
“If I accept but ask you that we are exclusive?”
“Exclusive sounds fair. Any other rules?”
I stare at him wondering if I should just leave, but he says, “Stop overthinking this. It feels right. I always lead with my head. For once, I’m allowing myself to explore. Do it with me.”
“Okay,” I mumble. “Don’t make me regret this.”
With a kiss, we seal what might be the most magical adventure of my life, or… I don’t allow myself to think about what might go wrong.
Not tonight.
Chapter Five
Pierce
Things I have never done during my adult life:
1. Had a woman sleep in my bed.
2. Spent my Sunday with said woman.
3. Puppy proofed my condo.
4. Thought about how I’m going to convince said woman to stay for dinner.
5. Planned on a long-lasting monogamous hookup. Or should I call it a relationship?
I’m still unsure how the last one will work, but I’m willing to try it.
“Thank you for helping me set up the house so Buster can be safe,” I say.
“I looked at my schedule, and I can come by a couple of days if you want me to watch him,” she offers.
“If that works for you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the company,” I state. “There might be a couple of days when I won’t be able to come home to check on him until late at night.”
“What do you do for a living?”
I’m one of the best fucking lawyers in town, and for some reason, I feel like she’s going to be disappointed when I tell her about it. Still, I am honest. “I’m a lawyer.”
“What kind of law do you practice?” she asks.
“Mainly corporate. Plus, I handle any intellectual property cases that we get, which aren’t more than a handful a year.”
She scrunches her nose.
“Sorry, I’m sure the correct answer was environmental law.” I shrug. “Being a lawyer is a family thing. Bryant, LLP is my great grandfather’s legacy—we all work for the firm.”
She serves me another nose scrunch that makes me laugh.
Analyzing what I just said, it all sounds absurd. I could be working anywhere or even open my own practice. We live in some kind of hierarchy, and the elders are the ones who make the decisions for us. I omit telling her things like my entire family is pretty old school. Grandpa still thinks that global warming is a hoax.
Yeah, she probably wouldn’t fit in with my family. I make it work. She seems like the kind of person who wouldn’t take crap from anyone, not even her own family. She’d stand for saving a tree and would tell my grandfather that recycling is his obligation.
“You’re easy to read,” I declare. “You really don’t like lawyers, do you?”
“I…don’t have a poker face,” she agrees. “Lawyers tend to be—”
“Bloodsucking assholes?” I answer. She laughs and nods. “Not all of us are like that outside the courtroom. If it makes any difference, I compensate with pro bono cases.”
“Like penance after screwing someone?” she asks and doesn’t do it judgmentally.
“Something like that,” I agree. “So, you’re pretty transparent.”
She nods. “It’s a curse,” she confesses. “I could’ve never been a doctor, a lawyer, or a teacher.”
“Did you ever think about becoming one?”
“Not a teacher or a lawyer but definitely a doctor. The thought was gone when I realized I have trouble tolerating people,” she laughs, rolling her eyes.
I’m pretty sure that’s not the reason. It’s more like she wouldn’t be able to bear seeing someone die, but I don’t say it.
“What if the owner of the pet is an asshole?”
“For starters, as a surgical intern, I don’t have to deal with a lot of owners,” she explains. “At the shelter, I just tend to the animals who come to us. I deal with the volunteers and the pets. Who would fire someone who works for free?”
“You don’t do well with people,” I conclude.
“Only with the ones I like. I’m a pretty good judge of character,” she informs me and chuckles.
I arch an eyebrow, “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Okay, I confess. I avoid people. However, I am a good judge of character. Animals are better. They love unconditionally.” She tilts her head to the side and says, “I believe that it’s the best kind of love.”
I freeze for a moment. Yesterday we didn’t discuss our hard limits. Falling for me would be a deal breaker. I don’t see myself doing more than spending the weekend with her and a couple of nights a week. A quick hookup, maybe a sleepover, so the next morning we can have an encore before returning to our lives. That’s all I am offering.
Should I reiterate that?
My phone buzzes. When I check it, I spot a text from my mother.
Mother: Don’t forget the gala this upcoming Wednesday. Make sure your tux is clean this time.
I pulled the short straw, and I’m representing the family. I text her back, asking if it’s with a plus one. Her reply makes me roll my eyes.
Mother: Don’t bring a call girl.
“Everything okay?” Leyla asks.
“Yeah, just a reminder that I have a formal dinner this Wednesday. Would you like to join me?”
“I’m working at the animal hospital,” she replies without even checking her calendar.
Cocking an eyebrow, I ask, “You sure?”
She blinks twice. “About my schedule? Of course, I’m sure. I’m an intern, but I have a set schedule. Wednesday and Fridays I have the night shift. What kind of dinner is it?”
“Nothing important,” I claim, disappointed, which is strange. Why would I want to bring her along?
She checks the time on her watch and says, “We have to clean Buster’s wounds and give him his medication.”
“Should we drive to your place and pick up some clothes for you so you can stay over for another night?”
Leyla wrinkles her brow and lifts her chin, giving me a suspicious glance.
“It’s for Buster’s sake, not for mine,” I say innocently. “You’re better equipped to do that kind of stuff.”
She scratches her chin and nods. “Once he’s doing fine you won’t have an excuse.”
“I’ll find one.” I wink at her.
Who knew that having a steady, monogamous relationship with a hot woman was not so bad? It’s the first week of December when I realize that if Leyla and I were a couple, we would be celebrating our three-month anniversary. We’re not. The friends with benefits deal we have suits us better.
Leyla is fun to be around. Clearly, she likes me enough since she’s okay with hanging out with me daily. We have a routine. On weekdays, she drops by my apartment around noon to walk Buster. Some days I meet her so we can have lunch and sex. Of everything we do together, that’s my favorite thing.
We spend every night together—except for Wednesdays and Fridays when she has the hospital’s graveyard shift. I visit her at midnight, just to say goodnight. Plus, doing it in the janitor’s closet of an animal hospital is kind of hot. That woman is a vixen, and fuck if I don’t spend more time thinking about where we will fuck next than working.
I keep telling myself it’s just a short-term thing, and once we grow tired of each other, we will be calling it quits. I’m also finding new ways to keep her interested because I’m not ready to let her go.
Another favorite thing to do with her is going to the stables where she boards her horse, Poppy. I’m tempted to buy a house with a barn so we can have our horses together. I haven’t visited Alistair, my stallion, in months because that implies visiting my grandmother, who reminds me that I’m getting old and haven’t settled down.
She hopes that one of her grandchildren will marry and have babies before she dies.
During weekends we not only have sex, but we also go out to concerts, bars, or, like tonight, to watch a live hockey game.
“So, you’re a huge hockey fan?” she asks as we approach the seats.
“Not necessarily,” I answer casually.
She rolls her eyes, “So, you have season front row seat tickets just for kicks?”
She turns to the penalty box that’s right next to us and then to me. “It’s the perfect place to yell at the idiot that ends up there. I always say if you’re going to do something stupid, at least don’t get caught.”
I chuckle and give her one of the beers we bought upstairs. She carries my hot dog and her donuts. None of the food from upstairs was enticing enough for her. Knowing her, she’s going to make a salad when we get home and have a piece of cheesecake.
Once the game starts, I realize that Leyla isn’t here just because it sounded interesting. She is a fan.
“You like hockey,” I point out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugs and continues yelling at the players. She yells at them by their nicknames, cheers when they do something right, and cusses at them when the Vancouver Orcas score a goal. So far, the Avalanche are losing by two points until one of the defensemen misses the puck, and we score. Leyla cheers. Not me.
“You fucking idiot,” I yell, banging the glass. “You are so fucking useless, Aldridge. Even I could’ve gotten that.”
Leyla turns to look at me, narrows her gaze, and then looks back at the player I’m yelling at. Then, she asks, “Are you related to Mills Aldridge?”
I shrug and don’t answer. Because I never talk about my brothers. It’s too fucking complicated. In plain view, I’m an only child. But then there’s the mess my father made. I have six brothers. I’m number three of the seven. That guy who I’m yelling at is number four. He’s actually Canadian. Daddy was a womanizing asshole who cheated on his wife and had five more children out of wedlock.
My mom was his second mistress. I don’t get along with my brothers. I haven’t seen them since one of my younger brothers, Carter, died.
Now, that kid was cool.
I’m not sure if the rest get along, but I stay away from them. I love hockey, and I watch most of Mills’s games. When he comes to Denver, I am always here, giving him shit.
The baby of the family is the frontman of the band Too Far from Grace. When he performs in town, I go and check him out. I don’t know why I do it. It’s not like I plan on talking to any of my brothers again.
Halfway through the game, Mills is in the penalty box right next to Leyla. She turns to look at him, and he winks at her, blowing her a kiss.
I move her to the other side and glare at him. “Do you even know how to play hockey? It’s not baseball.”
“Fuck off, asshole.”
“Jock.”
He takes off his glove and flips me the finger. “Nice to see you, jerk.”
When the game is over, she asks again, “What is your relationship with him? You two seemed…familiar.”
“It’s complicated,” I answer. “We don’t speak about it.”
“We are past secrets, aren’t we?” she asks, and I take the opportunity to add my question to the mix.
“What’s your last name?”
“Okay, so I’ll back off then,” she mumbles.
Some things are not meant to be shared. I’m not sure what her deal is, but I let it go. Mine is too messed up and not worth discussing. Our relationship shouldn’t be more than what we have. I kiss her before we get into the car to remind her why we are together.
Chapter Six
Leyla
Defining my relationship with Pierce Aldridge is almost impossible. There’s no word between casual and serious. Complicated doesn’t apply because it’s easy to get along with him. Well, easy might be a stretch. We harbor secrets, avoid any serious subjects, and don’t even mention the word relationship. It has too many implications.
Sighing, I finally accept it. We’re complicated.
What are we?
It’s the middle of March. We’ve been together for nearly seven months. I stay at his house almost every night. My wardrobe occupies more than half of his closet. We travel often, sometimes to cities like New York, San Francisco, and Vancouver while others we go to exotic destinations where we can get away from the snow. We still aren’t a couple. I think. So what if we spent our first Christmas and New Year’s in Bali?
Are we lying to ourselves and each other by pretending to be part of an open, yet monogamous, relationship?
Maybe we’re both too scared to stamp a label on what we have. But if it was casual, would I be talking to my therapist about my feelings, the situation, and my wants?
“Do you think it is time for you to discuss with him where this is going?” my therapist asks.
I would sound needy, insecure, and…well, he doesn’t seem like a guy who wants to deal with a helpless woman. I’m not weak. I’ll just come across that way if I ask for more, won’t I?
What is he going to say when I ask him to define us?
We have an agreement. Once we are uncomfortable or when the other is asking for something we can’t give, it’s over.
I tap my foot a few times against the leg of the chair, sucking my bottom lip. “What we have is fragile. Neither one of us has ever had a relationship.”
“Have you discussed with him why?”
Arching an eyebrow, I look at her and shake my head. “No, I don’t think we’re at the point of telling him that I’m pretty broken.”
She looks at her tablet and then back at me. “Have you considered other ways to describe yourself other than unfixable, broken, or damaged?”
“I use shattered sometimes,” I joke and smile at her. “When I look at it
from an outsider's perspective, it sounds awful, pitiful, and really, how can that person even function? An abusive father who killed his family. I survived because my dog pushed me against the floor, and I only got shot twice. That’s a pretty big trauma.”
“You’ve been working hard to overcome what that six-year-old girl went through,” she states.
“True,” I agree. “But I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be the guy that will say, ‘I don’t care about your past, let's become a family—warts, mass-murderous tendencies, and all.’”
She stares at me expressionless. Any other person would laugh. It was funny. I’m sure she’s thinking, this woman keeps deflecting reality with her stupid jokes. Maybe not because she’s a professional, but because I’m just making up stories to deflect. Typical Leyla behavior.
“You could give yourself a chance,” she suggests. “You two seem to have a domestic routine that could lead to what you ambitioned for your future.”
“Is it possible?” I ask, skeptical. “We have what the other one needs right now. It’s foolish to think that there can be more. When the time comes, we’ll go our separate ways. He’ll find a woman who meets his expectations. They’ll have a more mature and normal relationship than the one we currently have.”
When I say that out loud, my heart stops, and I panic. Sweaty hands, shallow breaths, and head pounding. I haven’t had one of these episodes in a long time. Too long to even remember. Now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t had a night terror since…
“No, this isn’t good,” I say as I bend over and put my head between my legs, trying to slow down my breath and my pulse.
“Is it possible that there might be more than just casual sex between the two of you?” She hits me with the question right when I’m at my most vulnerable point.
“But it shouldn’t,” I insist. “I’m not ready yet. There’s so much we don’t know about each other. I haven’t met his family.”
“He doesn’t know about yours either,” she states. “Your past is important. However, falling in love involves a lot more than where you came from. It’s about who you are at that exact moment. That’s also why people fall out of love. We don’t grow with each other, and one day you wake up next to a stranger.”
Defying Our Forever (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers Book 3) Page 4