by Lucy Eden
He opened his eyes and Remi had only just pulled off his dick when he dropped to his knees in the dirt with Remi. Who gave a shit about mud and dirt in places it might not be the best to have? He’d willingly scrub dirt from every inch of himself so long as he could keep looking at Remi, keep touching him, keep telling him how he loved him.
“I still love you,” Grant breathed again, hands cradling Remi’s face and he kissed him again but this time it was gentle. Remi wrapped his arms around Grant and kissed him back, his hands were trembling as the touched Grant and he could feel the reverence in his touch. It broke Grant’s heart and filled it all at once.
“God, I love you. Never stopped,” Remi breathed, pulling back to look at him, and the look the men shared was one of wonder and awe. They laughed then, quiet in the roar of the storm still going on outside of glass walls of the greenhouse. Whatever happened out there was the world’s, and in here?
In here they had forever.
They had each other. Their arms went tight around the other and they kissed again, their kiss, this kiss the first of so many to come, was kind and loving, slow in its promise that he’d never forgotten the shape of Remi’s mouth or what it had been like for them, careful in its promise of tomorrow and that he never would let him go again.
About The Author
Rebel Carter
Rebel Carter loves love. So much in fact that she decided to write the love stories she desperately wanted to read. A book by Rebel means diverse characters, sexy banter, a real big helping of steamy scenes, and, of course, a whole lotta heart.
Rebel lives in Colorado, makes a mean espresso, and is hell-bent on filling your bookcase with as many romance stories as humanly possible!
More Books by Rebel Carter
Heart and Hand: Gold Sky Historical Series Book 1
New Girl in Town: Older Woman Younger Man Romance
Love and Gravity
About The Bed Hierarchy
One innocent night can change the course of a life. Theo discovered this first hand when Olive Buchanan came into his world for less than twenty four hours. Six years later, he still can't get over the memory of her. That's the only reason he's agreed to attend the Buchanan family's annual vacation; to prove that his best friend's little sister is not the perfect woman his mind has made her out to be.
He has one week to put aside this secret obsession and move on. A task that is suddenly difficult when he finds himself getting closer to her every night...
The Bed Hierarchy
Lauren Connolly
MONDAY
This will be the final page in a chapter of my life.
Her chapter.
It was rude of her, to only make one appearance in the beginning. But things will tie off to a nice end when I see her this time. This infatuation will cease, and my life will move on.
I pull into the driveway of a house painted an odd shade of purple. The lilac fits in though, one in a line of colorful houses stretching along the beachfront.
Thick, salty air coats my skin as I step out of my car. Living in Raleigh, North Carolina, humidity is nothing new. But here on the coast, the ocean waves season the wind.
“Theo is here!”
Glancing up at the shout, I spot Melony Buchanan on the second-floor deck, a phone to her ear, hand over the receiver. There’s one more floor above her, this house towering high over the dunes. The woman waves down at me, and a second later a familiar head peaks over the top railing.
“You made it! Just in time for crabs.” Tim Buchanan, a man I share too many embarrassing college memories with, grins down at me. The siblings’ faces are strikingly similar from this angle. Round cheeks, sharp noses, wide mouths made for smiling.
Just like their sister.
“Crabs sound great!” I shout up at him, heading for the stairs.
The heat of the day has begun to fade along with the setting sun, which takes away the excuse for my sweaty palms.
You’ve built her up in your memory. She’s just an ordinary girl.
The pep talk doesn’t help as I climb up to the first deck, where I give Melony a wave, and then the second deck, where I give Tim a hug.
“Thanks for inviting me. You sure I’m not crashing?”
“No way!” He pats my back before letting me go and heading for the sliding glass doors. “The Buchanan family vacation is open to friends. Has been since we were teenagers and mom and dad got tired of entertaining us. Come on, let me grab you a beer. How was the drive?”
A shiver runs through me as I step from ocean humidity into cool AC. With a reverse floor plan, the house boasts an open kitchen/living room combo that covers almost the entire top floor. On the far wall is another set of doors, plus a string of windows that reveal the Atlantic Ocean.
“Not bad,” I murmur, my eyes trailing over the shadowy heads on the other side of the glass.
An icy bottle presses into my hand, and I glance down to see Tim handed me a wheat beer. “Thanks, man.”
He points to the ocean-side doors. “Go say hi. Just need to finish up with this.”
Clearly, my friend is in charge of dinner for the night. He grabs an oven mitt and proceeds to pull a tray of cornbread from the oven.
The first summer after I met Tim, our freshman year at UNC, I heard about the annual Buchanan family vacation. Every August, Mrs. and Mr. Buchanan find an interesting spot somewhere in the United States and rent a house large enough for them and their kids. They covered the cost, but their offspring got kitchen duty for the week to pay their way. I wonder if I’ll get assigned a dinner. Hopefully everyone likes grilled cheeses.
After a bracing breath, I step out onto the deck and into a gathering.
Immediately, my attention strays to the woman on the porch swing.
Olive Buchanan.
She sways her seat and licks salt off the rim of her mixed drink. Mocha brown eyes meet mine, crinkling at the corners with her wide grin.
“Theo Phillips,” she greets me. “You’ve finally jumped into our pool of sharks.”
“We are not sharks!” Mrs. Buchanan announces, standing from her lounge chair and approaching me with arms wide for a hug. “Don’t listen to Olive. We are a pod of friendly dolphins.”
I chuckle, enjoying the tight way the woman squeezes me, like I’m a child of hers returned to the fold. She and her husband have stayed at my place in Raleigh a handful of times. Tim’s dad shakes my hand, not bothering to lower his beer from his lips as he does.
I’ve been warned the Buchanan parents take their vacation drinking seriously, and that I should expect a week full of tipsiness.
The next few minutes involve greeting Tim’s fiancée Caroline, and meeting Melony’s wife Diana, and three-year-old son Mason. Tim’s lab, Cooper, approaches me with a wagging tail and lolling tongue. After introductions, I end up leaning on the railing, sipping my beer, and listening to the family discuss the merits of beach versus mountains. Apparently, last year the vacation house was in Wyoming.
“Olive, why don’t you show Theo his room? So he can get settled before dinner.”
“You mean so he knows where to stumble to after you ply him with your skinny-dipping sangria?” The young woman responds, smirking when her mother only shrugs with an innocent smile.
Skinny-dipping sangria?
I don’t have time to ponder what that drink might entail, because the next moment, Olive’s warm, strong hand has hold of my wrist, and I’m being led inside.
“Where are you going? Dinner’s almost ready!” Tim yells after us as his little sister pulls me toward a set of stairs.
“Keep your pants on. Just showing Theo our room.”
Our room?
Down one level, we come to a closed door. “This has to stay shut at all times. Jezebel and Cooper don’t mix.”
“Jezebel?”
Instead of answering, Olive opens the door and pushes me through, revealing another flight of stairs. The ground level of the house lacks the open
flow of the top floor. We walk down a short hallway, passing a bathroom, before entering a room with two beds.
“Welcome to the bottom of the bed hierarchy.” Olive gestures with her half empty glass to the small space.
“The what?”
There’s an open suitcase full of women’s clothes on the floor and rumpled covers on the larger of the two beds.
This can’t be happening.
What’s the big deal? You’re ending her chapter, remember? A mocking voice in my head throws the words back at me.
“The bed hierarchy,” Olive explains, oblivious to my inner panic. “If you’re going to attend Buchanan family vacations, you better memorize it.” She sits with a bounce on the big mattress, the movement dislodging a few strands of hair from her messy bun. The dark curls brush her cheeks, framing intelligent eyes that watch me as I stand in the middle of the room. “It’s undeniable that every rental has better bedrooms than others. That’s why you want to reach as close as you can to the top of the hierarchy.” Olive holds a hand high above her head. “Number one, Mom and Dad, a.k.a., the wallet. They’re paying, they get first choice.”
I sit across from her, trying not to stare at her toned, tanned legs.
Her hand drops an inch lower. “Tier two, infant. You have a newborn; you get a good room. Tier three, pregnant. Big belly, big bed.” Olive pats her flat stomach and takes an over-exaggerated swallow of her alcoholic beverage.
“What comes next?” I ask, fascinated despite my apprehension.
“Next is couple with young kids. So that’s where Melony, Diana, and Mason fall. Then you have couples, Tim and Caroline. Next is single with a pet.” Olive tilts a thumb at herself. “Last is single. Or, at least, didn’t bring a partner with them.” She points to me.
“I’m single.” The words are out before I consider why I felt the need to share my relationship status. “What about guests?” My last hope I’ll find my way into a room without this woman sleeping feet away from me.
She snorts. “That’s not a category. You fall where you fall. And you, Theo Philips, are under me.”
If only.
I shake my head at the thought then flinch at a strange yowling noise.
“What was that?”
“That’s Jezebel.” Olive tilts her head, and I follow her gaze.
Framed in the doorway is a grey-striped cat with a snaggletooth.
“Is she winking at me?”
“Nah. She’s only got one eye. She came like that, so it’s not my fault.” The Buchanan tilts the rest of her drink back, smacks her lips, and climbs from the bed. “Dinner time. Let’s go before Tim starts whining.”
I follow, giving the slightly demonic-looking cat a wide berth. Another threatening yowl follows us up the stairs.
The rest of the evening is full of delicious food, loving bickering, a borderline violent bout of charades, and bottomless cocktails that take all the adults past midnight.
And, all throughout, my attention returns to Olive.
My eyes track her movements. My ears seek out her voice. When she laughs, I find myself smiling along with her.
When everyone heads to bed, I trail behind her. After finishing in the bathroom, I return to our room to discover Olive propped in her bed, lamp lit, book perched on her folded knees.
Attempting to keep my eyes to myself, I focus on the twin bed left to me. Only, there’s something sprawled across it. Or someone.
Jezebel has apparently decided she is above me on the bed hierarchy. When I reach a hand out to shoo her off, the entire room fills with her menacing growl.
Hands up, I turn to Olive. “Mind removing your cat?”
The woman uses her finger as a bookmark, then glances between the animal and me, grimacing all the while.
“Sorry. I’m not even brave enough to mess with her once she’s claimed a sleeping spot.”
“Are you serious?”
“Well, there’s her claws. And fangs. And admirable commitment to lifelong vendettas. I like you, Theo. But I’m not sure you’re worth it.” Olive opens her book back up. “Maybe try the couch?”
I’m torn between annoyance and laughter. Be careful what you wish for and all that.
Problem is, when I climb the stairs again, pillow under my arm, I discover Mr. Buchanan passed out on the only couch long enough to accommodate me. His snores rattle the entire top floor.
“How is it that the guy on the top of the hierarchy is sleeping on the couch?” I demand of Olive when I walk back into our shared room.
Tossing her book aside, she chuckles. “Oh yeah. I forgot the bottom most tier. Snoring. Puts you below singles.”
“Guess I’m taking the floor then.” I eye the hardwood unenthusiastically.
A sigh draws my attention back to Olive. She scoots over, pulling back the covers.
“Come on, Mr. Bottom of the Rung. This bed is plenty big enough to share.” Her hand pats the mattress.
This is … not good.
Or is it exactly what I need?
Sleep next to Olive Buchanan. I’ll wake up in the morning beside a grouchy, sleep-mussed version of her.
And then my six-year-long crush will be gone.
Right?
“Quit hovering. I’m tired. And I don’t mind. I mean, it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve slept together, right?”
TUESDAY
Waking up with a hard-on is normal. Having it pressed against something warm is not.
Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I glance down and realize that while I stayed on my designated side of the bed, Olive shifted during the night. Not only that, my bed mate has slung a leg over my hips. A bare calf brushes my erection.
Fuck.
Other than her sleepy attempt to straddle me, Olive has kept the rest of her body to herself. She has her pillow in a bear hug, clutching the thing to her chest as if scared it might decide to leave her once she’s unconscious.
Any hope I had that a sleep-mussed version of this woman would dampen my obsession is obliterated.
Olive is adorable. And sexy.
Her tank top is gifting me with a decent amount of side boob.
Or, more accurately, torturing me.
This isn’t a cure from her. This is just showing me more of what I’ve missed all these years.
And the chapter continues.
Most people would think I’m mad from the way my mind has fixated on her. But when she came into my life it was like a comet crashing to Earth. She forever altered my topography.
Six years have passed, but the memories never faded.
First week of the semester, junior year, Tim informed me his sister was coming to visit. Her summer break extended a few days longer than ours, and she was looking for a final rager before returning to her rigorous nursing program in Delaware.
When the young woman appeared, she was all tan skin, silky black hair, and mischievous smiles. I didn’t know whether to curse at Tim for not inviting her sooner, or growl at him for not warning me to brace myself. The idiot probably didn’t even realize how attractive she was.
But my friend definitely knew how fun she was. We spent the day exploring and eating barbecue. Then we spent the night finding the best parties. Tim’s girlfriend at the time showed up and stole his attention, leaving me on Olive duty. Not that I minded. At one point, the two of us were on a ten-game winning streak, our duo dominating the beer pong table.
We probably would’ve gone longer if the cops hadn’t showed up.
With Tim missing in action, I snuck Olive out of the house using a tiny bathroom window my shoulders could barely wedge through. We sprinted down side streets, navigating back to my apartment where we collapsed in the entryway, gasping and laughing.
Olive spent the night at my place after getting a text from her brother that he was safe and she should stay put. We watched reruns of The Office on my laptop and talked until 3 AM. Maybe it was the feeling of us being partners in crime, or the remaining buzz from cheap beers
, or something as simple as Olive’s disarming smile.
But that night I told her things I hadn’t even told Tim. Like how I wasn’t the one to choose biology for my major, that my dad did because he wanted me to go on to medical school. I admitted how that future terrified me, but I couldn’t see a way out of it. Our conversation echoes in my mind as I watch her sleeping face.
“How often do you talk to your dad?”
“Maybe every other week.”
“How long do you talk for?”
“Half hour or so.”
“An hour a month,” she murmured. Then nodded her head. “Twelve hours a year.” Olive met my eyes then, her gaze no longer fogged by alcohol. “Give him that. Hell, be generous and give him a few full days of visits. But the rest of the days? The three hundred some a year you live without him around? Claim them. Do what you want with them. Because those are yours, Theo. Your hours. Your days. Your life. Not his.”
Soon after speaking those profound words, Olive dozed off, and I followed. I woke up the next morning to an empty bed and a note.
Thank you for sharing some of your hours with me. -O
She was gone.
Already driving back to Delaware. Back to her real life. No doubt completely unaware of how she had changed mine.
I switched my majors, took on different classes, had the worst fight with my dad I’ve ever experienced, over the phone. He cut me off, refused to pay for classes to earn what he referred to as a ridiculous and useless major. So I took on two jobs, giving up my free time to earn enough money to finish with a degree I actually wanted.
And sure, I might not make as much money as a video editor as I would have as a surgeon, but I also don’t live in a continuous depressive state because I hate my job.
Surprisingly, my choice actually brought Tim and I closer together. A lot of the people who called themselves my friends drifted away when I couldn’t go to their keggers or bar crawls. But Tim made sure to eat regularly at the restaurant where I waited tables. He’d join me for late night study sessions at the library. When money was tight, he’d swipe me into the dining hall.