Never Have I Ever

by Blakely, Lauren

  “You’re great with kids. My daughter thinks you’re the best. I told her I was playing shuffleboard with you tonight, and she actually said to me, ‘You’re going out with my friend?’”

  I smile big and wide. “I love that she thinks of me that way.”

  “Me too.”

  My smile falters because the way Lucy feels for me, and the way I feel for her, is also one of the challenges I face in this burgeoning romance with her father. Lucy is perhaps the biggest hurdle. I love being a part of her life, and she evidently adores being in mine. What would happen, though, if this tender new thing with Zach fell to pieces? What if we hurt each other, break each other’s hearts? I would want to remain Lucy’s friend, but could we?

  I have no idea. I detest the thought of being out of her life. I want to fight like hell to keep her in mine.

  He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “One more thing, though, about your mom. If you ever wanted to see her, I’d go with you.”

  I nearly stumble, shocked from his comment. “To see my mom?” I want to make sure I understand.

  “If you wanted to. If it was important to you.”

  I swallow, a lump tightening in my throat.

  Something hasn’t just changed with Zach.

  Something has seismically shifted in him.

  He’s not the man he was ten years ago. Or ten months ago, or even ten weeks ago. Sure, I can see on the surface he’s still strong, sarcastic, and smart. But now I see inside him. Because he’s let me, and what I see is so much more than I ever expected.

  What I see is beautiful.

  And it floors me.

  I’m unprepared for the wave of emotions that roll through me from his offer, stirring something I haven’t felt in years.

  Something I’ve only truly felt once before.

  I silence all the feeling with a kiss, whispering a “Thank you” against his lips, wondering how on earth I’m going to handle the fall.

  * * *

  Later, we stumble into my place, kissing and touching. Unable to stop. Unwilling to.

  I want to go all night.

  We find our way to the bedroom, and clothes fly off. I fall down on my bed, and he climbs over me, his blue eyes dark as a lake, his intent fierce.

  He claims my lips once more, then in a heartbeat, he flops down on his back, grabs my hips, and pulls me up, murmuring dirty words, telling me to fuck his face.

  He’s filthy and hungry, and I love it. I love the rawness, the realness. I ride him, gripping the headboard, doing as asked, and finding my release in minutes.

  Once I do, he flips me over to all fours and slides into me. Pleasure consumes my body as he drives into me the way I want. Hard, powerfully, wiping away the day, the worries, all the what-ifs.

  He’s biting my neck, my shoulder, like I asked for the other day in the office. Giving me what gets me going until I come hard.

  But he doesn’t follow me there.

  Instead, he pulls me closer, raising me up, wrapping his arms around my chest. Kissing my neck, running his nose through my hair.

  Slowing down.

  Inhaling me.

  Touching me everywhere.

  And I shudder again, and again, because everything feels too good to be true. He runs a hand down my belly, sliding it between my legs, then he lowers us to the bed so we’re both on our sides, and he fucks me slowly and wonderfully.

  It’s like he’s luxuriating in me. In this time. In our chance. In everything that’s happening tonight.

  Soon he’s whispering my name. Growling it. Grunting it. I urge him on, wanting his release, craving it.

  When he comes inside me, he says my name like it’s a jewel in his mouth. Like I’ve become something precious to him.

  And I’m pretty sure he’s become that to me too.

  No, I’m certain.

  * * *

  The next morning, I make him breakfast. Eggs and potatoes and toast. He devours my cooking, and I love seeing him at my kitchen counter, in my home. As we eat, he asks more about my sister, and I tell him about Paige and Lisa, and how I was one of two maids of honor at their ceremony. I grab the photo of my sister’s wedding from the coffee table and show it to him.

  He wiggles a brow as he taps my face in the frame. “For the record, if I were at that wedding, I’d have tried to bang this maid of honor.”

  I stage-whisper, “For the record, you’ve banged her already. A few times.”

  “And every single time was epic,” he says, setting down his fork as if to punctuate his point. Then he kisses my cheek. “Because it’s with you.”

  I shiver from head to toe as that deep, sexy voice fills my senses. Because it’s with you.

  We’re so close to something.

  So close to becoming so much more.

  When he cleans up, doing the dishes and putting them in the rack, my heart flutters. The man can screw and the man can clean.

  Yes, I’m officially floating.

  He hangs the towel on a hook, then cups my cheeks and gives me the most wondrous goodbye kiss. Who is this man? This romantic, passionate, can’t-stop-touching-me man? He’s both the same guy I’ve always known, and a complete upgrade now that I’m seeing all the other sides.

  And I want to keep learning everything about him.

  Because I’m doing more than floating.

  I’m falling.

  Falling so deeply in love that I don’t know who’s going to catch me.

  Or if I’ll have to catch myself.

  When his phone alarm beeps, his official reminder, he heads for the door. With one hand on the knob, he says, “Have lunch with me some day this week, okay? We’ll slip out of the office. And I’ll find another time for us to have a night together.”

  “Of course.”

  He leaves, and I shut the door then sigh happily.

  I picture him heading uptown, picking up the kids, spending the day in Central Park with them as he said he planned to do.

  A part of me wishes I were with them.

  But I have plenty to do here.

  I wander through my apartment and settle in at the couch, where I pick up my latest to-do list. I have a few wedding errands to run today, some calls to make and emails to return.

  I’m a busy lady, and I dive into the emails first.

  But when I’m done, I stare out the window, craving the sunshine then instantly picturing Zach under this great big sky, playing with the children.

  For a second, I want to be there.

  Or elsewhere.

  If he were a regular single guy, no kids, no complications, he could see a movie with me, wander around the city, enjoy the sunshine.

  Then I reprimand myself. I’m lucky to have some alone time to relax, set my own pace. I don’t need to spend every second with a new beau.

  Besides, this gives me a chance to see a friend.

  I text Sloane and ask what she’s up to. She’s heading out to a cafe with her husband, and our friend Haven, and instructs me to join them.

  I haven’t seen them in a while, and it’s an order, so I go.

  I find the trio in the Village, at a sidewalk café on Jane Street, laughing. Malone swipes something off Sloane’s lips, and she sticks out her tongue. Then she leans in for a kiss.

  They’re so in love, it’s sickening—in the good kind of way.

  Haven meets my gaze and rolls her eyes. “These two,” she says, pointing her thumb at the lovebirds.

  “I know, right?” I say to her. “Will you two ever stop with the PDA?” I tease the couple when I reach them.

  Malone looks up at me, a twinkle in his dark-blue eyes. He pretends to consider my question. “Never.”

  He pats the chair they saved for me, and I plunk my butt down.

  Haven gives me a quick hug, and Sloane does the same, then asks if I want anything. I pat my belly. “Still stuffed. I’ll just grab a carrot chia seed smoothie.”

  Haven stares intently, her dark eyes studying me. “What ha
ve you done with our friend Piper?”

  “Kidding. Iced coffee. Obviously.”

  Haven flags the waitress and asks for the drink. When she’s done, she turns back to me. “Did you have a wild Saturday night?”

  A knowing grin spreads on my face. “Maybe a little.”

  “Tell us everything.” Haven sets her chin in her hand, waiting.

  “Don’t leave out a single salacious detail,” Sloane adds.

  I give them the basics, grateful that I can share with this crew.

  “He sounds great,” Haven says, flicking some strands of brown hair off her shoulder.

  “And I definitely thought he was a cutie when I met him the other month,” Sloane seconds. Then her face lights up. “Malone is singing at the Lucky Spot next weekend. You should bring Zach and come see him with me.”

  “You should. I have some new tunes,” Malone chimes in.

  “Maybe. He’d have to get a sitter. But I can ask. I like the Lucky Spot. Is it the Midtown one?”

  Sloane shakes her head. “No, the new Chelsea one.”

  I’ve been to the Chelsea location. It’s cool. It’s also a popular place with Dina and Freddie and Steve and the whole crew from college.

  Jessica and Charlie too.

  If I go with Zach, what if someone sees us? Are we keeping it a secret from all of them too?

  I smile and say maybe.

  The rest of the day feels like a big maybe.

  28

  Zach

  I’m sweating like I stepped out of the sauna. New York in July is punishing. My T-shirt sticks to me. “Are you sure Anguilla isn’t going to be like this in a few weeks?”

  Charlie smacks me on the back as we wrap up our game of basketball on the outdoor court then head into the gym. “C’mon. Anguilla is way better than New York. It’s in the nineties here and balls-hot. Anguilla is eighties with a nice breeze.”

  “News flash: eighties is still hot.”

  “Then you better grow a pair of unsweaty balls.”

  “Jackass,” I mutter.

  “Ooh, is it tough for you that I beat you at basketball today?”

  “Miracles do happen.” I wipe the sweat from my brow with my sweaty T-shirt. “There better be a perfect ocean breeze.”

  “Don’t get your jockstrap in a twist. Besides, that’s why the groom and best man are wearing shorts.”

  That is some of the best news ever. “I cannot thank you enough for the no-tux rule.”

  He pats his chest. “That was my idea. Plus, the ceremony is at sunset. The weather there is perfect when the sun sets on the beach.”

  I roll my eyes. “Have you become a wedding planner? You sound like one.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “Speaking of wedding planners, anything going on with you and the wedding planner?”

  Surprised, I scoff, since it’s easier than looking at him. “Why would you ask me that question?”

  He shrugs casually. “When I took the kids to the bookstore the other day, Lucy mentioned you’d been playing shuffleboard with Piper. I didn’t know you guys were so into parlor games.”

  I clear my throat, doing my best to be honest with my buddy. “Seeing as we’re best man and maid of honor, we thought we’d meet up, learn to play nice, and discuss some secret none-of-your-business wedding stuff.”

  What else can I say? The rest is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t want to take away from his moment. This is their time. Plus, it’s best for the kids right now if Piper and I are on the down low. They’re my priority. They lost their mother and came out the other side still healthy, still happy, still awesome. I need to be certain, to be sure. I don’t want to rock their boat if I don’t have to, or challenge their emotional fortitude till the time is right.

  I’m not going to tell my best bud, especially since Charlie can’t keep a secret for love nor money.

  Honestly, though, I’d love to smack him on the back and say, Yeah, something is going on with the wedding planner. I’m in love with her. How about them apples?

  I smile at the thought of Charlie’s reaction. The guy would be ecstatic. He wants me to have this.

  But like I learned in London, you have to do things in the right order. Tell people at the right time.

  This is not that time.

  29

  Piper

  We don’t go to the Lucky Spot to hear Malone sing. I’d like to say it’s because it doesn’t work out with a sitter, but the truth is—between God, me, and the lamppost—I don’t invite Zach. I don’t really know how we’re supposed to act around friends of ours.

  But I know one thing. A down-the-hall-from-each-other romance has its perks.

  The first time we go out to lunch, our date is the stuff that movie romances are made of. We eat at a quiet café off the beaten path in the Village, and we talk about little things and big things over hummus and pitas. We trade stories from when we were younger and stories from the last few years too. He tells me about his toughest client, and I tell him about my most perplexing—the one who wanted to walk into her wedding on water. He asks where I most want to go in the world.

  “Everywhere. I’m not picky. I am voracious. But I’ll start with Italy.”

  “Italy is great. Lucy loved Rome and Venice.”

  I roll my eyes. “Your kids have traveled more than I have.”

  “They do seem to get around,” he deadpans.

  “You’ve always taken them to lots of places?”

  “I want them to experience the world. I want them to understand what a great big place it is.”

  “I’d just like to experience Tuscany.”

  He takes a drink of his iced tea. “I bet Tuscany is nice.”

  “You’ve never been?”

  He shakes his head, and I make a mental note to steal him away to Tuscany someday where he can be all mine, only mine.

  We do lunch again the next day and the next.

  The best part of these trysts? Well, besides getting to know him more?

  The office sex.

  On a Friday afternoon after sandwiches, we slip into his quiet office, since his assistant is out.

  He sits down in the chair, I tell him to unzip his pants, and I treat him to a world-class blow job. He tastes good, he smells good, and he makes the most fantastic sounds. Groans and grunts and rasps and growls. It’s all so masculine, so carnal. His sounds get me going—they drive me on. His hands do too. They twine in my hair, tangling up in it, tugging me close as he finishes.

  In fact, this becomes such a wonderful dessert to our lunches that we do it again the next week. Lunch becomes our thing.

  We sneak away for midday meals, even though it’s not truly sneaking. But it feels a little bit that way. Sometimes they last an hour, sometimes they’re thirty minutes, and inevitably, they end on his desk, in his chair, on my desk, in my chair, or on the couch. One time, they end up against the door of my office with his hand over my mouth and me biting down hard on his thumb so no one hears me.

  The next day, we go for takeout and pop into a secondhand bookshop. He pulls me down an aisle and kisses me hard by Greek history, then presses his teeth against my collarbone, leaving what I can tell will be a faint imprint.

  “There. I want that to be your memory of being kissed in a bookstore,” he says.

  “You really do love marking your territory.”

  “I really do. So much that I’ll mark you again.”

  I don’t say no to that. I like being marked by him. I like being his.

  * * *

  The next day, I meet Jessica for her final fitting. As we walk to the bridal shop, I update her on the quickie wedding plans, since everything is coming together for her nuptials. But as I tell her about the reception food, she clutches her stomach and nearly doubles over. I reach for her arm. “It sounds that bad?”

  She rises, straightening, shaking her head. “The summer, the heat,” she moans, then she stares at me with wide imploring eyes. “I don’t want to have morni
ng sickness when I walk down the aisle. Can you please make that go away too?” She presses her palms together in prayer. “Pretty please, with sugar on top, world’s greatest wedding planner?”

  I laugh, wrap my arm around her, and guide her down the street and into the cool air conditioning of the dress shop. “I’m good, but no one is that good. That said, I will do everything I can to make sure you have crackers and whatever sort of anti–morning sickness potions and voodoo mixers and elixirs there are.”

  She throws her arms around me, and a little tear rolls down her cheek. “Thank you. I’m so damn emotional. I’m the poster child for a pregnant woman.”

  “You are a pregnant woman, so that’s a very good thing.”

  She heads into the dressing room for her fitting and I sit on a plush dove-gray chair waiting to give the final verdict on her dress. She calls out from the dressing room, “I wanted to tell you—Graham is coming to the wedding.”

  He’s Charlie’s good friend, so that makes sense. “That’s great. Do you need me to plan a role for him or something?”

  She chuckles softly. “No, silly. I was just thinking that maybe I could try to get you two together again.”

  My shoulders tighten.

  I’ve been able to tell her about others, even Jensen. She knew how I felt when I met him. She knew, too, how I felt when we unraveled.

  This is the moment where I should be able to tell her about Zach, to share that I’m seeing someone. That I’ve fallen hard for someone. That I’m wildly, insanely in love with a guy I never expected.

  Instead, this is the moment when I have to swallow whole that bubble of happiness, that effervescent, floaty, electric feeling you get when you can finally tell your good friend.

  How I want to have that with Jessica. I want to blurt out my true heart and have her throw her arms around me and say, I’m so happy for you.

  But Zach and I are a secret.

  Are we a dirty secret?

  I cringe inside, then shake off the unpleasant feeling.