Cates Georgia - THE LOVIBOND COLLECTION -

THE LOVIBOND COLLECTION by Georgia Cates

TAP: BOOK 1

STOUT: BOOK 2

Contents Also By Georgia Cates GEORGIA CATES Tap Blurb Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Lucas Broussard Lawrence Thorn Epilogue GEORGIA CATES Stout Blurb Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell

Oliver Thorn Adelyn Maxwell Oliver Thorn Epilogue GEORGIA CATES Excerpt: Beauty from Pain Blurb Chapter 1 Chapter 2 GEORGIA CATES Excerpt: A Necessary Sin Blurb Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 About the Author Other books by Georgia

Published by Georgia Cates Books, LLC Copyright © 2016 Georgia Cates All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Editing services provided by Marion Archer of Making Manuscripts and Karen Lawson, The Proof is in the Reading. Formatting by Jeff Senter of Indie Formatting Services

ALSO BY GEORGIA CATES THE LOVIBOND COLLECTION Tap: A Lovibond Novel 1 Stout: A Lovibond Novel 2 Porter: A Lovibond Novel 3 (TBA) The Lovibond Collection: Tap, Stout STANDALONE Indulge THE SIN SERIES A Necessary Sin: Book I The Next Sin: Book II One Last Sin: Book III The Sin Trilogy Bundle Endurance: A Sin Series Novel Jamie and Ellison's Story Redemption: A Sin Series Novel Leith and Lorna's Story Coming 2017 Unintended: A Sin Series Novel Westlyn and Kieran’s Story Coming 2017 THE BEAUTY SERIES Beauty from Pain: Book I Beauty from Surrender: Book II Beauty from Love: Book III The Beauty Series Bundle THE VAMPIRE AGAPE SERIES Blood of Anteros: Book I Blood Jewel: Book II Blood Doll: Book III The Complete Vampire Agape Series GOING UNDER SERIES

Going Under: Book I Shallow: Book II Going Under Complete Duo

From New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal best-selling author of The Beauty Series comes The Lovibond Collection––a series of stand alone novels. Craft beer and the sexy men who brew it. Both, always a good idea. A faceless name. That’s all she was when I agreed to play a part in deceiving her. But then the unplanned happened. We met. And all I wanted from her was a dirty weekend . . . until that wasn’t enough and I longed for so much more. Lawrence Thorn suddenly means the world to me. And that’s a problem. She’s my business partner’s sister. Forbidden fruit. Pursuing her can mean trouble for me at Lovibond Brewery. But I don’t care. I yearn for her skin against mine. I crave her smell on my body. I want to make her laugh and then hear her moan my name. And she does for a brief moment in time. But Lawrence wants more than I’m able to give. And it’s a damn shame because there’s no one on earth I want more than her. An epic love. A miserable ending. Unless it’s not.

Lucas Broussard

THIS QUARTER’S SALES ARE PROFITABLE. DAMN PROFITABLE. BUYING INTO LOVIBOND BREWERY AS A partner four years ago has proven to be a wise decision. Oliver Thorn, Porter Beckman, and I are becoming three increasingly wealthy men. The opportunity to financially back this company during its infancy couldn’t have presented itself at a better time. My life had been in a shambles. Miserable in my business. A failed marriage. My wife and my business partner in love . . . with each other. My world was a complete clusterfuck. A knock on my office door steals my attention from the numbers. And the past. “Hey, Tap. You got a minute?” “Sure.” Stout enters, shutting the door behind him. He never does that. Oliver Thorn, aka Stout and my business partner, shrinks into the chair across from me. He’s hunched with his forearms resting on his thighs. His face is nearly hidden in his palms. This isn’t the typical carefree Stout who launches himself into the chair opposite me and kicks up his heels onto the edge of my desk to annoy the fuck out of me. The disheveled guy in front of me looks . . . defeated. I’m silent as I wait for him to look up at me. But he doesn’t. This is weird. Stout never acts like this. Maybe I should prompt him to say something. Anything. “I was just going over the numbers. They’re up again. This time by thirteen point nine percent. That’s almost two times what they were last quarter.” Unbelievable how quickly this company is growing. It began with two college guys brewing beer in their apartment. They dreamed of turning their hobby into a multimillion-dollar company. I was taken aback when Porter approached me about buying in as a partner. I was his boss. Although I wasn’t much older, he and Stout had seemed like a pair of naïve college graduates with zero business experience. Dreamers. But then I sampled the product and knew these guys had something marketable on their hands.

That was four years and several million dollars ago. The founding fathers of Lovibond Brewery have been called many things. Lords of the hops. Masters of the craft. Top hops. Brew brothers. Boot keggers. The list is endless. The pair know and understand the science and production behind manufacturing high-quality, good-tasting ale. Money-making beer. Interesting direction given their backgrounds in chemical engineering and graphic design. And that’s where I come in. I’m the business and finance guy. Supply and demand. Numbers. Dollars. Evaluation. Return. Those are the things I know and understand. They need me. And I need them. I trust Stout and Porter to produce a top quality product. They have confidence in me to manage all business and financial aspects. Each of us does his part. That’s why we make a great trio. Stout still isn’t talking. Guess I’ll have to probe. “I’m assuming you shut the door because you want to speak privately.” “Yeah. I’ve been having a hard time since things ended with Eden.” No shit. He’s been on a three-month party streak. Booze and women. “The last few months haven’t been your finest.” I’m pretty sure Stout has partied harder the last few months than his entire college career at Alabama. “I have a problem.” Stout turned to the party life to numb the pain of an ugly breakup. I guess most guys have done that at one time or another, but he took it beyond anything considered reasonable. Not the best way to deal when you have beer within your reach at any given time. “I’m glad to hear you’re taking charge before it spirals out of control.” “Got a little out of control already. I spent the night in the slammer last weekend. Got a DUI.” Oh, hell. A DUI conviction stays on your record for five years in the state of Alabama. “I can’t believe this shit, Stout. You’re a partner in a company advocating responsible drinking with a designated driver. Do you understand how that looks?” “Trust me. I know.” He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “I’m working with an attorney. He’s almost certain he’ll be able to get me out of it.” “Avoiding a conviction only fixes part of the problem.” This could mean bad publicity for Lovibond if word gets out. “My attorney says he’s certain we can divert my case out of the court system and avoid a criminal record if I go through a rehabilitation program.” “That’s your only option?” “I can fight it. Maybe I win. Maybe I don’t. But one thing’s for sure if I don’t do the program: I’m fucked if I lose the case.” That’s not good for anyone involved. “Then you don’t have a choice.” Stout is going to rehab. Probably not a bad place for him, considering the amount of partying he’s been doing. He’ll have time to dry out. “There’s a hitch.” Isn’t there always? “There isn’t a place for me in an outpatient program. I have to enter a thirty-day inpatient program.”

“Inpatient for thirty days?” Fuck. Porter will have to pick up Stout’s load. I’m not sure how he’ll handle more work at this point; he’s already snowed under with his own responsibilities. We all are. “You think Porter can take on your work load as well?” Southern Taste Beer Festival is just around the corner, and we’re in charge of hosting the event this year. Sixteen breweries will be traveling to our home turf in Birmingham for the festivities. It’s a ton of preparation even when we join forces. Being short a partner won’t be helpful. “I’ve arranged to hire an assistant for him while I’m away, even if he doesn’t like it. Molly is working with a temp service to line up interviews.” At least he’s making preparations for his absence. “We’ll do what it takes to make things work while you’re away. Just concentrate on getting your shit together.” “That’s the plan.” I’m no stranger to how a man can let his life spin out of control. “You’ll pull things together.” “I have to. If not for myself, I have to do it for Lawrence.” I try to place who he’s talking about but I’m stumped. “Lawrence?” “My sister, Lawry.” Lawrence. Lawry. I should have been able to make that connection. “Right. I’m sure you don’t want to disappoint her.” “I don’t. And that’s why I’m not planning to let her know I’m in a substance abuse program. She’d freak if she knew.” I’ve always been under the impression he was close to his sister. I’m surprised he’d keep something like this from her. All this time as his partner and I’ve not met his sister. Never even spoken to her. “You don’t have to worry about me saying a word. I’m sure Porter won’t tell her anything either.” “I know neither of you will rat me out, but I have a kink in my plan. I can only have outside contact on visitation day so the program won’t allow me to bring my phone into the facility. That’s a problem because I text or talk to my sister almost every day. She’ll know something is up if I go radio silent.” “What kind of shit program cuts you off from your friends and family?” That’s his support system. “They don’t cut you off. I can make calls from the pay phone and have visitors on Sundays.” I can see how that’s going to be an issue if they have daily contact. “Have you come up with an explanation to explain your disappearance?” “I have but I’m not sure you’re going to like it.” Stout closes his eyes and peeks at me through a squint. “I need you to be me while I’m gone.” Well, that’s just dumb as hell. I laugh aloud because the idea is so idiotic. “You want me to be you? You must be drunk right now because that makes zero sense. No way I could pass myself off as you to your sister.” She knows his voice. Plus, I’m Cajun. She’d hear one word out of me and immediately know I’m not him. “You won’t have to talk to Lawry. I just need you to pacify her with daily texts.”

Oh, fuck, no. “I hate texting women. And I loathe pacifying them more.” “You hate being texted by women you’ve fucked and plan to never see again.” Stout makes me sound like a colossal dickhead. But he isn’t wrong. I have a four-step routine when it comes to dating. One: I fuck a woman. Two: She clings. Every. Time. Because that’s what they do. Three: I call it quits. Four: End of story. I’m not a manwhore. Well, maybe I am a little. I was married to Bridgette for six years. We weren’t in love. Never were. She was my best friend and unfortunate circumstances forced us into a marriage neither of us wanted. I couldn’t love her the way a husband should, so our marriage was over before it ever began. We never had a chance at making it work. There was too much tragedy. Too much hurt. But I did love her in a different kind of way. And I respected the vows we made to one another, even if we were only nineteen at the time. That means I didn’t fuck around on her. Until she asked me to open the doors of our marriage. So, yeah. I guess I’ve used the time since our divorce to have as much sex as I wanted with many willing women. No harm in that. Those looking in at my marriage from the outside probably saw a nasty love triangle destined to end poorly for me. That wasn’t the case at all. It wasn’t Bridgette’s or Warren’s fault they fell in love. It just happened. I wasn’t a husband to her so I didn’t feel betrayed. People couldn’t understand that or how I could be so forgiving. Especially after everything that happened. As Bridgette’s husband, I was the partition between my two best friends. I was preventing two people I loved from being together. Damn, those were rough times. Fucking brutal. I didn’t want to be the one standing in the way of their happiness so I did the only thing I could: step aside as Bridgette’s husband and as Warren’s business partner. Best decision of my life. Fuck, I don’t know why I’m thinking of things long buried. “I know I’m asking a lot of you.” Stout’s voice forces my thoughts back to the present. Why ask me? “Porter knows your sister. Wouldn’t he be the better candidate?” That makes better sense to me. Stout laughs. “Porter goes completely stupid when it comes to Lawry. He’d probably forget he was supposed to be texting as me and hit on her.” I’ve never known Porter to be interested in one particular woman. I have no idea what his type is. I guess the Lawrence type. “I’m already putting my workload off on Porter. It would be pretty shitty to place double duty on him.” I can agree with that. I lean back in my chair and tug my beard as I consider the task being asked of me. There is no way I could come off as Stout. We are so different.

He’s a dreamer. An idealist. I’m a numbers man. Logistical. I know nothing about his relationship with his sister or their history. This is nuts. But Lovibond needs this problem to go away. And fast. If a thirty-day inpatient program is what it’ll take, then I have to help make that happen. “Why do you feel the need to keep this from your sister? You’re an adult. Can’t you tell her what happened the same way you told me?” “If she knows I was charged with DUI, she’ll immediately worry I’m an alcoholic. I’m not. I swear. I can lay it down today, never have another drink, and I’d be fine.” Stout likes to have a good time, but it’s never caused a problem. “I know you’re not.” “We have a strong family history with drug addiction so I don’t want to upset her.” He’s never mentioned that. “You’re saying it would be like maybe a text a day or every other day? Something like that?” “Probably more than one a day but still not a big deal. She mostly messages about random stuff happening in her life. Porter could help you out if you run into a problem.” It’s texting. I hate that shit, but how bad can it be? “I’ll do it.” Stout closes his eyes. He brings the top of his closed fist to his mouth and clears his throat before he chokes out, “Thank you.” “No problem.” At least I hope there’s no problem. “When does the façade begin?” “I’m scheduled to check in to the clinic tomorrow morning.” “That soon, eh?” “No reason to wait. The sooner this is behind me, the better, so I can get back to work.” He ain’t lying about that. Lovibond is going to suffer while he’s out. “How are we going about doing this?” I need specifics if I’m going to pull this off without a hitch. “We usually speak once or twice a week. When you don’t take her call, she’ll leave a message. She always does. You’ll need to be clever when you decide how to explain away why I’m unable to talk. You can’t bullshit Lawrence. Her meter is spot on.” “What do you mean I can’t bullshit your sister? My understanding was that this whole thing was specifically about bullshitting her.” “It is. I just meant you can’t give her any of that usual nonsense you feed women. Be genuine. Respond the way you would with your sister.” I don’t have one of those. But I have Bridgette. She’s very much like a sister and I’d never bullshit her. “I’ll do my best.” “And you have to tell her you love her at night. That I love her. You know what I mean.”

I have all the feels now. “Should I text her hearts as well?” “I send the smiley faces blowing kisses. Or hearts. Either is fine.” I. Was. Fucking. Kidding. I’ve never done hearts, flowers, or any of that other shit with a woman. Ever. Not even my mom. And definitely not Bridgette. It wasn’t how we were with one another. “All right. It’ll be hearts and kissies for sissy.” “I owe you one, Tap.” “Yeah, you do. A big one. And don’t you forget it.” But do you have debts with friends? “Name what you want. I’ll make it happen.” “I hope you know I plan to make this worth my while.” “I’d expect no less out of you, Tap.” Texting the sister. Hearts and flowers. I’m a smart guy. I can wing charm and brotherly love. I got this.

Lawrence Thorn

OLLIE ISN’T ANSWERING HIS PHONE. AGAIN. “OLIVER THORN. THIS IS THE THIRD TIME I’VE CALLED THIS week. Are you ever going to call me back? I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me. And it’s pissing me off. Big time.” I press end and drop my phone on my lap. Disgusted. I’d normally never interrupt an outing to the beach with the girls to call my brother, but I thought I’d have a better chance of catching him since it’s Sunday. This is always his day off. He should be answering. “We haven’t spoken in a week. I’m worried.” We’ve never gone this long without checking in with one another since he moved to Alabama. Ivy leans up from the backseat. “I thought you said he’d been texting.” I don’t want texts. I need to hear my brother’s voice. “Hazy messages. That’s all I’ve gotten from him this week.” Ollie has been acting strange the last few months but his behavior has been different this week. So much . . . weirder. “The brewery has grown a lot this year. That has to demand a lot of his time.” I’m sure Ivy is right. Lovibond is busy banging out a shit ton of beer. “I understand he has a lot on his plate, but he always makes time for me. Lately, it feels like we’re a million miles apart instead of four hundred.” I don’t like it. Not one bit. Kelsey briefly takes her eyes from the road and looks over at me. “What do you think is going on if he’s not tied up with the brewery?” “I know exactly what’s wrong. He hasn’t gotten over what that damn Eden did to him. “Don’t make me say her name. I’ll want to get in my car and drive to Birmingham to kick her ass.” I admit I suffer from a severe case of overprotective sister when it comes to Ollie. But I have the right after everything we’ve experienced. “I can’t see him being upset over a woman. Stout is a fun-time guy. A manwhore.” I don’t like hearing Ivy call my brother that, even if it’s probably true. “It’s been months since their relationship ended. He must have loved her if he’s still upset,” Kelsey says.

Ollie loved her with all his heart. That isn’t a gift he gives easily. “He told me he thought she was the one.” Ivy punches the back of my seat. “Get out of here. He said the one? For real? I can’t imagine those words coming out of his mouth.” I love Eden. I’m going to ask her to marry me. “I know. I thought I’d heard him wrong when he told me.” “I can’t see him settling down for anyone. I thought he loved being the life of the party too much for that.” “She changed everything for him. He thought he’d found someone he could trust with his heart.” Instead, she shit on it. I’m devastated for Ollie. I know how hard it was for him to open his heart. I’m the same. My brother and I are alike in so many ways. Both so careful in who we choose to connect with and how. It’s a lesson we mastered very early in life thanks to Jimmy and Christie. We learned how to emotionally disconnect before we knew our ABCs. God, I need to talk to my brother so badly. “Call Porter. Tell him to have Stout get in touch with you.” I could, and I will if it’s my only choice, but the thought annoys the piss out of me. I shouldn’t have to go to that extreme when all he has to do is return my call. “I’ll think about it.” Kelsey pulls into the public parking area for the north beach, taking the last spot. “Looks packed today, girls.” No surprise there; it’s crowded every day in the summer. Vacationers come from all over to visit Tybee Island Beach. Kelsey pulls in and backs out, driving forward again to the left, maybe scooting over all of one inch. “How does it look over there, Law?” I bet she’d be directly in the middle of the parking spot if we took measurements. “Looks perfectly centered to me.” “Think there’s enough room so they won’t hit my car with their doors?” I carefully swing mine open to measure while holding it to ensure I don’t tap the car beside me. “I think you’re good.” Kelsey bought this brand new BMW 6 Series after she got a raise at work a few months ago. She’s so proud of it. Babies the thing like it’s her child. Can’t say I blame her. I’d probably treat one the same if I had a car this nice. Except I’d never drive a gas guzzler. Only electric for me. Oppressive heat envelops us as we gather our beach paraphernalia from her trunk. “It’s going to be a scorcher today. I hope one of you remembered sunscreen because I completely forgot the brand new bottle I bought for today.” “I brought some SPF 60.” I don’t play around when it comes to getting sunburned. I haven’t since I was seven years old. “Mommy, my skin hurts so bad. It burns.” “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have been so stupid to stay out in the sun all day like an idiot. Serves you right. Now get out of here and shut the door so I don’t have

to hear your whining. Or his. It makes my head hurt.” It was mid July. The inside of our rented trailer was blazing hot because the power had been turned off. Jimmy and Christie had chosen to buy heroin instead of electricity that month. It never mattered how miserable Ollie and I were as long as they were able to get high. By some miracle, our water hadn’t been turned off. It was the only relief we had during that unforgiving July. And one of the few ways we were able to have fun. I was a kid and had never been taught about sunscreen or why it should be used. Not that Christie would buy any for us anyway. Ollie’s skin was red and covered in watery blisters by that night. Mine too. I’m so sorry, Ollie. It was all my fault. He was only four but had already learned to cry silently so he didn’t bother Jimmy and Christie. One beating from our sperm donor was all it took for Ollie to learn how to hold his tongue. Do your best to not be seen or heard, but most importantly, don’t disturb the monsters for fear of their wrath. No lotions or aloe vera. No type of pain medication. No relief. We had nothing to ease our pain. Except briefly when we were lucky enough to fall asleep. But even that didn’t come easily. Not when you heard screaming and fighting most of the night. “Look what I brought.” Kelsey lugs the cooler out of her trunk. “I don’t have sunscreen but I do have ice-cold Pale Hazel.” “My personal favorite.” My brother and Porter knocked it out of the park when they created this one. “And perfect for a hot day at the beach.” She’s right. It’s light and non-filling. “Totally agree.” We have a ton of stuff to carry, so I’m drenched with sweat and petered out before we even reach the beach. Ivy comes to a dead stop right in front of me, almost causing me to crash into her. “This sucks. We need some guys to carry our stuff for us.” I consider myself an independent woman who can handle most things on my own, but even I wouldn’t turn down an offer of help at this point. “I could go for some help right about now.” Kelsey calls out behind me, “Hey, you, the one up there complaining. You want to tote the cooler of beer? ’Cause I’m happy to trade you this heavy bastard for whatever you’re carrying.” “Don’t worry. You’re not doing more work than anyone else. The bags I’m carrying weigh as much as that cooler.” Ivy is full of shit. She has the lightest load of any of us. “I doubt that, hooker.” I hate bitching. “Suck it up. We’re almost there.” We reach the top of the wood-planked walkway and discover the huge crowd of people. “Shit. I think everyone decided to hit the beach today.” “More people means better odds of meeting cute guys.” Ivy always has one thing

on her mind. Men. We luck out and find three free loungers for rent. I’m surprised, considering the swarm of people. Ivy takes out her Bluetooth speaker and works to connect it to her phone. “What kind of music are we listening to, ladies?” “I could stand some James Bay or Jack Savoretti. Something along those lines.” “How ’bout we do a James Bay station and switch it to Jack Savoretti in a little while?” “Sounds good.” “Move Together” is the first song to play. “I love this one.” “I didn’t like James Bay’s music the first few times I heard it, but now I can’t get enough.” Ivy is so weird. “I don’t know how anyone could dislike his music.” “He sort of reminds me of Ray LaMontagne.” “I can agree with that.” I’m the first to go for the cooler. “Who’s ready for a cold one?” “Me,” Ivy and Kelsey reply simultaneously. I dig through Kelsey’s bag for plastic cups since glass containers aren’t allowed on the beach. “Too bad we can’t have frozen frosty mugs for these beers.” That would be divine. Ivy pulls her cover-up over her head and tosses it in the direction of her beach bag, overshooting by a full foot. She didn’t miss her calling for the WNBA. She adjusts her boobs in her top but they’re not the issue. “Ivy. The camel called. He wants his toe back.” Kelsey holds up her hand placing a barrier between her and Ivy’s crotch. “Dear Lord. Do something about that.” She looks down to inspect her bikini bottom. “Sorry.” She inconspicuously makes the appropriate adjustments. “Better?” “Yeah, but are you sure that thing isn’t going to be see-through when it gets wet?” I can never bring myself to trust a white swimsuit. “It’s fully lined. It’ll be fine.” She’s braver than I am. “O . . . kay. Whatever you say.” I guess we’ll find out soon enough. The heat is fierce, and I down my Pale Hazel quicker than I should. Sheez. One beer and my head is buzzing. “How much alcohol is in one of these bastards?” I fetch a bottle from the grocery bag we’re using to collect trash. “Damn. Eight percent.” Ivy swallows the last of her beer. “Oliver has always known how to brew a stout one.” He didn’t get that nickname for nothing. I’m ready for something else cold to drink, but not another beer. I flip the top on the cooler and dig for a bottle of water. “Anyone ready for another drink?” “Pass a water my way,” Ivy says. “What about you?” I know Kelsey. She’ll ask for one the second I close the lid. “Nah. I’m still nursing this one since I’ve gotta drive.”

I wipe the water and sand from my hands and check my phone. Again. “Still nothing from that little shit.” He’s avoiding me, and I want to know why. Kelsey points at our makeshift trash bag. “Dig those bottles out and let’s take a pic with our beers to send him.” “Let’s do it. He always gets a kick out of that.” The girls love sending Ollie random selfies of us drinking Lovibond beer. I guess it’s sort of our where will your beer show up next? groupie project. “I’m pretty sure he won’t mind getting a picture of the two of you in bikinis.” That will gain his attention if anything does. Kelsey calls out to our neighboring beach goer, a middle-aged gray-haired man with a huge potbelly. “Excuse me, sir. Will you take a picture of my friends and me?” “Of course. Happy to.” I bet Kelsey just made his day. Probably his year. Our three-girl posse strikes a pose with our empty Pale Hazel bottles, each of us pointing to the label like always. “Say cold beer,” the man says. “Cold beer,” we repeat in unison. I hear several pings from my phone. “Some mighty pretty girls in that picture.” “Thank you. That’s a sweet thing to say.” “I took several. You might want to take a peek and see if you like them. I have three daughters so I know all too well how you girls can be about the way you look in pictures.” “It’s just going to my brother so it doesn’t have to be perfect.” I can hardly make out what it looks like with the sun shining on my phone. I see little more than a dark screen. “Looks good to me. Thanks.” “You’re quite welcome. You girls have a fun day and stay safe. Don’t have too many of those beers. They can get you into a heap of trouble.” This man sounds like my dad. “Yes, sir.” Kelsey holds out her hand for my phone after our amateur photographer returns to his lounger. “Gimme. You’re not sending that if I look like a fat ass.” But it’s to Ollie. He really won’t care. She’s like another older sister to him. Kelsey is gorgeous but has this ugly little habit of only seeing negative things about herself. It’s the one thing I really dislike about her. She doesn’t use self-criticism as a ploy to gain compliments like a lot of women. The girl truly believes she’s overweight. Too curvy. That’s what she calls herself but she couldn’t be more wrong. She’s a lovely size. “You’re so full of shit. You haven’t taken a bad picture in your life,” Ivy says. “I think not.” She uses her hand to shade the screen. “It’s not terrible, best I can tell.” “Hey, you need my approval too.” Ivy swipes my phone from Kelsey and studies it. “Well, I won’t be putting it on my Christmas cards but I guess it meets my minimal requirements.” “I’m not posting it publicly. It’s just going to Ollie.”

Having a brewski with K & I at Tybee. Wish you were here. Miss you. I send my message and attached photo before either can change their minds about the picture. “If he doesn’t reply this time, one of you is lifting your top and letting me take a picture of your boobs to send him. I won’t tell him which one of you it is and he’ll have to respond to find out. Boom.” Ollie thinks Ivy and Kelsey are hot so I guarantee that will be an instant response. “I nominate Kelsey.” Ivy pats her chest. “I doubt he’d get very excited over these B cups.” Our nominee’s head spins in Ivy’s direction. “I don’t think so.” “Okay. Then my vote is for you to get in your car and take your ass to Birmingham to see what his problem is if it’s bothering you so bad.” Ollie is twenty-seven years old, no longer that little boy I have to shield from real-life monsters. But no matter what happens, he’ll always be my baby brother in my eyes. I’ll never stop worrying about him. I haven’t been to Birmingham in a long time. Too long. “It could be time to pay the boy a visit.” We have things to discuss. “His big beer fest is coming up next weekend. It would be the perfect time to visit.” Lovibond is hosting this year so I’m certain it’ll be a blowout. Ivy could be onto something. “Lawrence should show up without any kind of warning.” “No. We should show up without warning. All three of us. Make a girls’ weekend of it.” Kelsey is always up for a party. “I can’t go. I’m on next weekend.” Ivy always has to work when we want to do something. “Take off.” “Don’t be dumb, Kelsey. You know I have to request vacation time six weeks in advance at the hospital.” Ivy loves what she does but isn’t blessed with the luxury of making spur-of-the-moment plans like Kelsey and me. “Whoa, Nelly,” I interrupt. I need to give this a little thought. “I’m not sure Ollie will be all that happy about me showing up during one of his busiest events.” “Probably not, but do you really care if he gets pissed?” Yeah, I do. He wouldn’t be angry to see me, but he might wonder why I’d choose to come knowing he wouldn’t have time to spare. “As adult siblings, I think we should maintain a level of respect for one another.” “He’s crazy about his big sister. He won’t get mad.” I think he might but he’d get over it quickly when I tell him why I’ve come. I don’t want to discuss our birth mother or what she wants over the phone. It needs to be handled in person. Ollie has a way of hiding his emotions—another lesson we learned early in life. I need to read his face so I’ll know his true feelings about Mommie Dearest’s request. “Do it, Law. You’ll feel a ton better after you see everything is all right with him. And you’ll have a good time at the festival while you’re there.” “I guess I could schedule Wynter to manage the store for a few days.”

“You’re the owner. You can do whatever you want.” True. But leaving the shop for three or four days means I have to put my confidence in someone else to run my business. Can I? “Wynter is the best employee you’ve ever had. She can handle the boutique without you for a few days,” Ivy says. Wynter is young but does an excellent job of managing my business. She handles most things the way I would. “You’re going to work yourself to death if you don’t delegate jobs to your employees. That’s why you hired them.” I’ve been hearing this for three years from Ivy and Kelsey. And my family. “I know.” But it’s so much easier said than done. And I know it’s right if I do it myself. “Give Wynter a chance to prove herself. It isn’t possible for her to run the place into the ground in a few days. If she screws up, never leave the responsibility in her hands again.” I haven’t gotten away in so long. I think a break would do a world of good for me. And I haven’t been to Birmingham in . . . a year. Wow. Has it really been that long? I should be ashamed for not getting over there sooner. “Okay. You’ve talked me into it.”

Lucas Broussard

STOUT’S PHONE DANCES LIKE A LITTLE BASTARD ON MY DESK. AGAIN. “Motherfucker.” It’s her again—the relentless texter. It’s Sunday. Doesn’t she ever give it a rest? One call. One voicemail. Three texts. That’s probably not excessive to most people but it’s nearing harassment in my book. If this were a woman I’d fucked, she’d officially be blocked by now. I lift the phone to see what the chatterbox is saying this time and am pleasantly surprised to see a photo of three women in bikinis. Each is holding a Lovibond beer in her hand. A variety pack. Not the beer, the women. One redhead. One blonde. One brunette. “All right. All right. All right. This is the kind of text I don’t mind receiving.” I find myself much more interested in knowing which woman I’ve been messaging back and forth during the last seven days. And her avatar of a damn Labrador dressed like a hippie is no help. What the hell is up with that? “You officially have my attention, Lawrence Thorn.” But which one are you? I can’t decide. All three are good-looking but I think I’m drawn most to the blonde. Always had a preference for a fair-haired beauty. I wonder if he has any pictures of her in his photos. Can I refrain from looking and allow my morbid curiosity to remain unsated? For once, I want to reply to Lawrence but I’m clueless. How would Stout respond? Would he say something about his sister’s two hot friends in bikinis or would that be off limits? I have no fucking idea. The rundown he gave me about Lawrence is useless. A streak of blue moves past my office door. “Porter?” He almost instantly appears in my doorway. “Hey. I didn’t know you were here. Thought I was the only one in the office today. What’s up?” “This.” I hold up Stout’s phone. “I know you’re busy but I need help. I don’t have any idea how to respond to the texts Stout’s sister has been sending.” Porter comes in and falls into the chair across from me. Unkempt and looking like total hell. Much like Stout appeared when he slumped in that same chair a

week ago. “What’s been your approach so far?” Only one word adequately describes my strategy. “Vague.” “Yeah . . . that’s not gonna fly with Law. She’ll know something is up for sure; she’s tight with Stout. As close as any siblings I’ve ever seen.” “So he wouldn’t ignore her texts because she’s being pesky?” “Never.” Shit. I’ve already messed up. “I’ve been avoiding her.” A lot. He told me to respond like she’s my sister. That’s what I would do if I had one bugging me. “That’s a definite red flag. Those two have been through a lot of shit together. He’d never leave his sister hanging.” This is fucking hard. “Stout and I talked about his relationship with Lawrence, but he couldn’t prepare me for everything.” “What does her last text say?” “Having a brewski with K & I at Tybee. Wish you were here. Miss you.” I turn the phone around so he can see the picture. He smiles but doesn’t seem nearly as enthused as I was. “Lawry, Ivy, and Kelsey take selfies of themselves drinking our beer. They send them to Stout all the time. It’s sort of like a where has your beer been game they play with him.” “Who is who?” “The redhead is Kelsey. The brunette is Ivy. And the blonde is Lawrence.” I wouldn’t have chosen the blonde as his sister. “I would have picked the brunette if you’d asked me to guess.” “You can’t tell it in that picture since she’s wearing sunglasses but they actually look a lot alike.” I don’t see it. “She’s a hot chick so it’s hard to imagine her looking like Stout behind those glasses.” “Don’t let Stout hear you say anything about her being hot; he won’t like it. Never mind she’s the older one. He’s super protective of her. And vice versa.” I’m realizing in this moment how little I know about Stout. “Aren’t most brothers protective of their sisters?” “Yeah, but not like them. Those two had a rough start in life. I’m not sure about all the details; they don’t talk about it much. But it was bad enough child protective services took them from their parents. They were in foster care for a while. I think they were maybe around ten and six when the Thorns officially adopted them.” This gives me a little more insight into why he’s so desperate to not worry or disappoint his sister. “I’ve never heard him mention a word about any of that.” “You wouldn’t. Lawrence and Stout never talk about their birth parents. In their minds, the Thorns are the only mom and dad they have.” Shit. After hearing that, I feel bad for ignoring Lawrence. She doesn’t deserve to worry about her brother, especially because I’ve been acting like an ass who didn’t have time to be bothered by her. “Help me come up with something to say to her.” “Let me think a minute.” Porter closes his eyes and rests his head in his hand.

He stays that way a few minutes before his eyes pop open. “I got it. You ready?” “Yeah.” I type as Porter dictates. “Looks like fun. Wish I were there with you instead of here working my ass off for the festival this weekend. By the way, tell K & I they’re looking insanely hot. I’ll call when I get caught up at work. Love you.” I tack on three heart emoticons to the end of the sentence. I feel like a puss. I’ve never texted hearts to anyone. I didn’t even know my phone had those on it. I reread the message and hit send. “Done.” I understand Stout’s guilt about placing the double workload on Porter but what the hell was he thinking when he assigned this task to me? I’m not cut out for this. He should have given the job to Porter anyway. It makes so much more sense for his best friend, who actually knows Lawrence, to be the one communicating with her. “Is he checking in with you today?” “Yeah, but I don’t know what time.” It’s already after two so I expect soon. “You know, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make a three-way call with Lawrence. The pay phone number wouldn’t show up on her caller ID if you make the threeway connection via cell phone.” Damn. I can’t believe neither of us considered that before Stout left a week ago. “That’s a great idea.” It takes the pressure off me for a while. “I assume he’ll be calling you on your phone?” Maybe. “We didn’t discuss it but that would be my guess.” “No big deal. He can make up something about why he’s calling from your number. She won’t think anything of it, but I’d suggest he call you on his phone next Sunday so she sees his number.” “Good idea.” Porter’s eyelids look like they weigh ten pounds each, he’s struggling so hard to keep them open. So he finally gives in. “You should go to your office and grab a little shut-eye. Even an hour would help you feel refreshed.” Porter jerks at the sound of my voice and opens his eyes. I’m pretty sure he just nodded off. “Can’t. Got too much to do.” He gets up with obvious sluggishness and stretches. “I’m all good as long as I’m up and going. I’m due a second wind any minute now.” “Whatever you say. But don’t exhaust yourself to the point you’re shit for the festival.” As I’m already short one partner, I can’t afford for another to check out on me too. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in top shape next weekend.” I feel bad for him. He’s under a ton of stress. Porter stops in my doorway when I call out his name. “I’m not a brew guy but let me know if you need help with anything. I’ve had orientation and can follow directions.” “Thanks. My new assistant starts in the morning but I’ll give you a shout if I need an extra hand.”

“Have you met him yet?” “No but Molly thought he was the best candidate for the job.” Molly has an amazing bullshit meter. That means she also has an affinity for hiring good employees. “She’s not steered us wrong yet.” After Porter’s gone, I return to work on the inventory numbers, but my eyes keep darting to Stout’s phone every few minutes. It hasn’t alerted with an incoming text but I press the home button to check anyway. We’ll say it’s for good measure instead of an eagerness to see a message from the lovely Lawrence. She caught my attention and now I’m getting nothing. That fucking sucks. I’m the one waiting for a response. I can’t concentrate on the numbers so I convince myself it’s a good idea to scroll through Stout’s old texts with his sister. I need to learn how I should reply to her in the future. That’s the only reason I’m doing this. Within minutes, I learn two things about Lawrence Thorn: she has a colorful sense of humor and enjoys a good laugh. In fact, she’s quite funny. I’m still running through the texts between Stout and Lawrence when my phone rings. Don’t recognize the number so it has to be Stout. “Lucas Broussard here.” “Hey, Tap.” “Stout. I’m glad to hear from you. How’s it going?” He sighs heavily. “Can’t lie. This week’s been shit.” “I was afraid of that.” “At least my counselor is easy on the eyes.” I take another look at the photo of Lawrence. “Yeah. A pretty woman is always a plus.” “I’m doing better than most people in here.” “You’re in with hardcore addicts?” That doesn’t sound like the right place for someone like Stout. “Yeah. No way I’d be doing this if I had another reasonable choice. Good news is I’ve been thinking about ways to expand the company. But we’ll talk about that when I’m back at work.” “Cool.” I’m not the ideas guy but eager to hear his thoughts. Stout and Porter are always ahead of the game. I’ve known that since they pitched their own marketing ideas on unique branding for Lovibond. “Enough about this shit. Tell me how things have gone with my sister this week.” Well, fuck. Don’t want to discuss this. “You know how much I hate texting.” “What does that mean?” His voice is stern. “I may not have responded to a few of her texts.” Or a lot. “How many is a few? ’Cause I’m doubting you mean three.” “I don’t know. Ten?” That’s probably greatly underestimating. “Maybe fifteen max?” Or twenty. “Tap,” he growls. Yep. He’s pissed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how close you were with your sister until Porter told

me a little while ago.” “Is Lawrence freaking out?” I don’t think sending a picture of you and your friends at the beach drinking beer constitutes freaking out. “No, but she has called and left several messages asking you to call her back. I think it would be a good idea if you did.” “I’m not doing that. I don’t want this number to show up on her caller ID.” “It won’t. We’ll call her three-way. My number will be the one to show up. Tell her you had to use my phone. If she calls back, she’ll get me, not some random person walking by the pay phone. Next Sunday we’ll do it again but use your phone. After the festival though.” “I guess.” “It’s a damn good plan but first let me catch you up before we call. She’s at Tybee Island today with Ivy and Kelsey. She texted a picture of them at the beach drinking Pale Hazels. Porter says they do that a lot.” Stout laughs. “Yeah. They’re always clowning around like that.” “These clowns are wearing bikinis.” “Dammit. I’m missing out on Ivy and Kelsey in bikinis? That sucks.” I pick up his phone to look at the picture again. “Trust me. Nothing about this picture sucks.” “Shut up, man. My sister is in that picture.” “You never told me your sister was so . . .” I recall what Porter said about Stout being overprotective of Lawrence and decide to forego the use of the word hot. “Pretty.” “You think my sister is pretty?” “Yeah.” Among a lot of other things I won’t mention. “I know you and what you do with women. I’m certain pretty is a substitute for the real word you’re thinking. So keep your eyeballs in your head when it comes to Lawry.” He doesn’t sound pleased. But he’s the one who assigned this job to me. Porter was right. Stout is nothing less than a bear when it comes to his sister. “I didn’t mean anything like that.” “Be sure you keep it that way. As far as you’re concerned, Lawry is prohibited. Forbidden fruit. Untouchable.” “You seem to have a very low opinion of me when it comes to women, but let me tell you something. I was faithful in my marriage until Bridgette suggested we see other people. I’ve never been one to mess with women’s feelings, and I still don’t. I’m clear with any woman who comes into my bed. It’s sex and nothing more.” “That’s fine as long as my sister doesn’t join your harem.” I wonder what he thinks I could do to her given she’s in Savannah. My dick’s impressive but it doesn’t reach Georgia. “Anything else you need to tell me?” Stout asks. I’ve had so little communication with her this week, there’s nothing to tell. “I don’t think so.” “Then let’s make this call.”

Lawrence’s phone is ringing when I switch over to connect Stout. “You’re there?” “I’m here.” One ring. Two. Three. “Hello?” “Hey, sis. Is this a bad time? You still at the beach with Ivy and Kelsey?” “Ollie. You little shit. I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Why haven’t you called me?” “I have. Just now.” “You know what I mean, ass monkey.” I read Lawrence’s texts to her brother, and thought she was funny, but hearing her smart-ass mouth is so much more entertaining. “I’ve been super busy with the festival. Every free minute I’ve had has gone to preparing for it.” Lawrence hesitates. “I know you’re busy, but I’ve been worried because you haven’t responded to half of my texts. And the ones you’ve sent don’t sound like you at all.” “I’m sorry, Lawry. I don’t know what to say except I’ve been swamped with work.” “It’s okay. I understand. But please don’t ignore me again. I don’t like it.” “I promise to not ignore you but I’m having some phone trouble. I won’t get my new one for a couple days. They had to order the phone I wanted so don’t be worried if you can’t get me for a little while.” “Whose phone are you using now?” “My partner’s. You can call his number in case of an emergency.” “You must mean Lucas Broussard, the partner I’ve never met.” Am I imagining it or does she sound a little disappointed to have never met me? “Don’t act like that’s my fault. You’d have met Tap years ago if you ever left your business long enough to visit someone.” “Like you ever leave the brewery, Ollie.” “Maybe not often but I come home to see you at least three times a year.” “Twice a year . . . at best.” “That’s two times more a year than you come to Birmingham.” “You know how much work it is running your own business.” “Tell me about it.” “Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you one day soon and pop into Birmingham for a visit without any warning.” “I’ll believe that when I see it.” “All right. I guess we’ll see then, won’t we?” “How is the witchery shop?” “You can be such a jackhole sometimes.” “I can be but I’m actually being serious. How is business?” “No complaints. Except my asshole landlord raised my rent another two hundred bucks. Greedy bastard.”

“But you’re okay?” “Absolutely. Just two hundred bucks poorer every month. But what can I do? I’m in a prime location.” “You’d tell me if you weren’t all right?” “Of course. Sales have been up every quarter since I moved the shop to River Street. It was a great decision to relocate. You wouldn’t believe the tourist traffic I get.” “I guess the drunks get out of the ghost tour bus and want to buy some voodoo supplies before they leave the market.” “There you go with the assholery again, Ollie.” “You know I’m playing ’cause I want you to smile. And be happy.” “I am happy. Really.” “Does that include your personal life as well?” “You know me. Single and loving it. I do what I want, whenever I like. No one to answer to and I like it that way. But you already know that.” Hmmm. Miss Lawrence Thorn sees things similarly to me. Interesting. “I know it very well.” “Since you know, the real question would be how is your life post Hurricane Eden?” Stout hesitates and for a moment, and I’m not sure if he plans to answer his sister. “Not great.” “I thought as much. Have you seen or heard from her?” “Nope. Not since the night I walked in on her fucking him in my bed.” Whoa. I didn’t know the shit had gone down like that. “I should cast a spell to make every stringy red strand of her badly dyed hair fall out.” “You shouldn’t say things like that. If something bad happened to Eden I’d wonder if you had a hand in it.” “I was kidding, Ollie. Remember the law of attraction. Positive attracts positive. Negative attracts negative. So have faith. Karma will take care of Eden’s ass.” “And I’ll be in the front row enjoying the show.” “Right. But don’t let it bring you too much joy. Instead, surround yourself with positivity and rise above it.” “I need to run but I’ll try to give you a call next Sunday after things settle down with the festival.” “Sounds good.” “Love you, sis.” “Love you, too. Try to enjoy the festival. Don’t run yourself ragged and miss out on all the fun.” “You got it. Talk soon.” I think I hear the sound of Lawrence ending the call but I keep quiet. If anyone is going to screw this up, it’s going to be Stout. Not me. “You still there, Lawry?” Stout asks.

No answer. My all-clear. “Dude. What the hell was that?” Part of me wanted to join in on their conversation especially when she mentioned Hurricane Eden—great name for that bitch. Lawry sounds a little eccentric. Fuck me if I’m not interested to know more, but what the hell was that about her shop and casting spells? “Just me being a bratty little brother teasing my sister. It’s our thing.” I’m so damn confused. “What is your sister?” Stout laughs. “Lawry is a lot of things: free spirited, bohemian, alternative. She has practices some people find . . . odd.” I’m not sure odd covers it. “Are you talking witchcraft and voodoo?” I’m from Louisiana. I know a lot about that shit, and I don’t like any of it. “My sister doesn’t dabble in the craft or black magic. Or white. However, she is into unconventional things like auras, holistic healing, aromatherapy, and herbalism. She’s a huge believer in the power of positive thinking. Cause and effect. Karma, as you heard. Stuff like that. All innocent.” “She’s a hippie?” “I’m not sure any one label could fit Lawry. Just when you think you know her inside out, she shows you a completely different side you didn’t expect.” Having now heard her talk, I would definitely agree. I didn’t expect carefree. I expected bossy, opinionated. I don’t know if it’s her independence, her drive, or her wit, but I will admit the whole package is sexy and . . . I’m intrigued. A little captivated. Sorry, Stout. I know you said Lawrence is off limits but I’m thinking it might be time to pay our Savannah customers a visit . . . and perhaps a gorgeous hippie sister too.

Lawrence Thorn

I KNOCK BUT DON’T SEE A SINGLE LIGHT THROUGH THE WINDOW OF OLLIE’S APARTMENT. I KNOW THAT’S his truck in one of the parking spaces. And his motorcycle is under the breezeway. Weird. No way he’s in bed this early. Good thing I have a key. Unless he changed the locks after Hurricane Eden. In that case, I’ll be blowing my surprise with a text. God, I hope he isn’t ignoring the door because he has female company. I turn my key in the deadbolt and push the door open. “Ollie?” The only response I get is a beeping signal warning me to the thirty seconds I have to disarm the alarm before the siren is tripped. “Oh, shit. I hope Ollie hasn’t changed the code since the breakup.” I open the cover of the keypad. One. One. One. One. November eleventh. My birthday. Whew. That was going to be a hard one to explain when the po-po showed up. I flip on the light and can’t believe my eyes. Shit. I know Ollie didn’t know I was coming but this place is trashed. This doesn’t look like my brother’s place at all. He’s usually pretty tidy for a man. He’s made a lot of money the last few years. I don’t know why he hasn’t moved out of this tiny apartment and into something nicer. He should be living in a house worthy of a successful businessman. My God, why is it so hot and stuffy in here? It’s suffocating. Is the air conditioning on the fritz? I check the temperature on the controller. Seventy-six freaking degrees. Who sets their thermostat that high during July in Alabama? If Ollie finds this comfortable then he can just get ready to freeze his nuts off; I’m dialing this bastard down. I guess Ollie’s at the venue setting up for the kickoff of the festival tomorrow. His absence blows my plan for breaking the news to him tonight about Christie. I had hoped to get that out of the way as soon as possible. I have no idea what time to expect Ollie so I change into my comfies and plant myself on the sofa. I curl up with my current read. Four chapters later, Ollie still

hasn’t shown. He’s not coming home tonight? This impromptu visit isn’t going the way I planned at all. I can’t chance being mistaken for an intruder so I scribble out a note to stick on the front door.

Hey, loser. Surprise! I’m sleeping in your guest room so don’t go pulling a pistol on me. See you in the morning.

Love, Lawry

I WAKE TO AN EMPTY HOUSE, AND NO RESPONSE TO MY TEXT, WHICH OF COURSE WORRIES ME. SURELY, Ollie didn’t stay up all night. He needs sleep. The festival starts midday, and I’m sure it doesn’t end until well into the night. Guess our surprise reunion will have to happen at the festivities. Not what I planned. My stomach growls, reminding me how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. I go to Ollie’s kitchen and expect problems with selection. I cross my fingers, but my hopes are low, for all-natural peanut butter and an organic apple. I begin in the pantry. Yikes. Pickings are slim. And no peanut butter at all. I move my search to the fridge. I hope all my preaching about pesticides and chemicals used on food has sunk into Ollie’s thick skull. No such luck. What the hell is going on here? A few bottles and jars of condiments in the door. Some canned biscuits. A few slices of cheese in plastic wrappers. Processed food. Yuck. Is this how my brother survives? I see my lectures have done zero, so we’re going to have a serious inservice to reinforce the importance of nourishment. You’d think someone who spent his childhood with too little to eat would keep his kitchen full of healthy food. I do. “Aww, man. Potted meat on crackers again, Lawry?” “I’m tired of it too but it’s all we have, Ollie. I promise I’ll try to bring home an apple or orange from school tomorrow.” “Can I have a banana? I haven’t had one in so long. And chocolate milk? Please?”

“I promise I’ll try.” Fruit was a pretty easy steal. The cafeteria workers didn’t notice when an extra piece went missing. The chocolate milk, however, was a challenge. I’m pretty sure they knew I was taking it. But who’s going to tell an undernourished little girl in filthy clothes she can’t have a carton of milk? Not my best childhood memory. I close the refrigerator door. “God, this kitchen is depressing me. I need to get out of here.” I’m showered and decked out in my maxi skirt and Lovibond tee an hour later. My top started out as a boxy men’s shirt so I had no choice but to put my special design on it with scissors. It’s a work of art now. “Shit, I’m starving.” Cafe. Vegan. Birmingham. “Let’s see what kind of food Google can find for me.” Not a long list but I see a definite contender. “You, Cafe 205, are within walking distance. I choose you.” I could definitely use a little exercise after my long drive yesterday. A serving of pumpkin steel-cut oats with two herbal teas and I’m festival ready. I can’t wait to see Ollie’s reaction when he sees me. Lovibond’s booth. Front and center. Fitting since they are putting on this event. Their tables and displays are decked out in awesomeness. Their hipster graphics are killer. Everything about their branding pulls in a beer drinker. I can’t help but admire the proof of my brother’s success. From a chemical engineer to beer brewer. I was so angry with him for pursuing this. I thought it was nonsense. The biggest mistake of his life. I was wrong. He’d followed his heart. His dreams. Shouldn’t we all be so lucky? I search the faces behind Lovibond’s table. I don’t see Ollie anywhere. Odd. You’d think they’d want the head honchos visible, especially on day one. Porter is engaged in deep conversation. Perfect. I don’t want him to see me and let the cat out of the bag. I approach one of the women behind the table. “How may I help you?” “I’m looking for Oliver Thorn.” “I’m sorry. I don’t know who he is.” She doesn’t know her employer? Weird. “He’s one of the Lovibond owners.” “Sorry. I’m just a temp hired to help serve beer at the festival.” She turns and points at Porter. “You’ll probably want to talk to that guy in the red T-shirt.” Her hand moves to gesture in the opposite direction. “Or the one in the black with his back to us. One of them should be able to help you find the other owner.” “Thanks.” Black T-shirt guy is surrounded by a crowd of people. That has to be Lucas Broussard.

Tall. Broad shouldered. Exceptional ass. The view from this spot ain’t bad. I rotate around my brother’s business partner so he can see my interest in speaking with him. I’m careful to position myself so my back is turned to Porter. If he sees me, my surprise is blown. Lucas Broussard is wearing sunglasses. I can’t clearly see his eyes but I catch him looking in my direction as he talks with the men circling him. I have his attention. He shakes hands with each man. “Lovibond looks forward to moving into your microbreweries.” Shit. I’m interrupting business talk. “Hello.” He’s quick to turn his attention to me once the men are gone. His head tilts to the side when he speaks. I may not be able to see his eyes but I don’t mistake the wrinkle on his forehead and between his brows. I grasp the stone of the pendent around my neck and stroke it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting.” “It’s no problem, ma’am.” Oh my God. I love his accent. What is that? Cajun? “Well, that’s good to hear.” Ollie wouldn’t be happy if I screwed up something with a client. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” He offers his hand. “Lucas Broussard.” I take it in mine. “Lawrence Thorn.” His eyes widen and his brows lift, causing several lines to form on his forehead. “Stout’s sister?” “Yeah. I decided to pop in to surprise him.” “Well . . . Stout,” Lucas begins but stops. Well, Stout what? “Is something wrong?” “I’m sure he’d be very surprised if he were here.” What? “He’s not at the festival?” “Oliver’s not in town.” He’s gone? That doesn’t make sense. “But he’s been preparing for the festival all week. He partly owns this business.” Why would he miss the event after all the work he’s done to prepare for it? “Do you have time to sit with me a minute so we can talk?” I don’t know what this means but my gut is screaming I’m not going to like it. “Sure.” Seems I have all the time in the world if my brother isn’t here. “Grab a table over there and I’ll get us a couple of cold beers.” “Okay.” I’m grateful to find a table in the shade. We haven’t hit afternoon yet, and it’s already nearing the mid eighties. When Lucas doesn’t return, I search the crowd for him. He’s talking to Porter and it looks like an intense conversation. Since they take turns looking in my direction, I get the distinct feeling it’s about me. This is shit. I don’t need my brother’s business partner to explain my brother’s whereabouts. I’ll just call him myself and find out what’s going on. My call goes straight to voicemail. “Hey, butt plug. I’m in Birmingham to surprise you and you’re not here. What’s going on?”

Looks like I may be dependent upon Lucas for answers after all. There’s an abandoned festival flyer on the table so I use it as a fan while I wait for Lucas. I’m already drenched. So glad I wore my hair up. There’s no way I’d survive this heat if it was down on my neck. Lucas eventually joins me at the table and takes a seat across from me. “Sorry about that. I needed to tell Porter the big news about landing a placement in Tapped Beer Emporium.” Wow. They’re a huge chain across the south. “That’s fantastic. Was that who you were talking to when I walked up?” “It was.” “Now I really feel bad for interrupting.” “It’s fine. And again, you didn’t interrupt anything.” He pushes a clear plastic cup of amber toward me. “Pale Hazel.” “It’s my favorite.” The corner of his mouth curls. “Then I chose well.” “Very well.” I take a drink of the nutty, caramel, toffee ale. “Always a smooth finish. Such a good brew.” Lucas grins. “Should be. It was inspired by you.” Is he flirting? Or trying to distract me because something is going on with my brother? “Is everything all right with Ollie?” “Absolutely.” “I don’t understand. Why isn’t he here at one of the most important events of his career?” “He called me yesterday and said he had to go see a friend in Memphis.” I didn’t know he had any friends from that area. “What friend is that?” And what could be so important he’d miss this beer festival? “Oliver never mentioned a name. Only that the friend was going through a severe bout of depression following a divorce, and he could be suicidal. Of course, Porter and I told him to go.” “He didn’t mention a word to me.” “It happened very quickly. I’m sure he’ll text after things are under control.” “I can’t believe I came all this way for nothing.” Coming here without calling was stupid. I shouldn’t have let Ivy and Kelsey talk me into it. “It won’t have been for nothing if you stay and have a good time.” “Porter is the only person I know. And I don’t see me sticking around to hang with him.” I don’t want to encourage Porter in any way. “You know me.” “You introduced yourself to me ten minutes ago. I don’t know you. There’s a big difference.” “What do you need to know to consider us acquainted? I’ll tell you anything.” “You assume I want to know about you.” “Don’t you?” Damn. That is a dangerous grin. I bet he uses it to get whatever he

wants. Lucas Broussard is my brother’s business partner and friend. I suppose I should get to know him. I bite my lip to stop my smirk from turning into a full-fledged, dimple-bearing beam. Damn. What is wrong with me? I’m grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Where are you from originally?” “Lafayette, Louisiana. The heart and soul of Creole country.” I was right. He is Cajun. “No surprise there.” “No, I ’spect not.” “How’d you end up in Birmingham?” “My family moved here for my father’s job when I was in high school.” “Tell me about your family.” “My parents are still married and live in Birmingham. My brother, Briac, is twenty-three. Just graduated from Alabama with a business degree.” “Does he have an accent like yours?” It’s nearly enough to melt panties. “No. He was eight when we moved here so he lost it. I think mine stuck because I spent more time with my mom’s parents. They are Ca . . . jun. They speak fluent old-school Cajun French.” Lucas had been financially stable to finance Lovibond in the early stages. I wonder how they knew a man like him. “Ollie’s never told me how you came to be the financial backer for this company.” “Porter was a graphic design intern for me at my old company. He knew I was looking to sell out and try something different.” Oh. This isn’t Lucas Broussard’s first venture. “What kind of business did you have?” “Printing company.” The beer brewing business couldn’t be more different. “What made you decide to leave printing for beer?” “Long story. Not sure it’s one you want to hear.” Does he think I’m too dumb to understand and discuss enterprise? “I’m a business owner. I can keep up.” “Then I’ll give you the short version. I think I like you too much to give you the whole story.” He already likes me? Ollie has said so little about Lucas. He’s cool. Smart. Good with numbers. Ollie’s words. If I were describing him, I would have gone with good-looking, delectable, and panty-melting hot. Wait till the girls hear about him. “What is it?” he asks. I shrug. “I didn’t say anything.” “I know but you’re smiling.” Can’t tell him I’m having an internal conversation about how sexy he is. He probably already knows. I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Go on. You were about to give me the short version of how you became partners with Ollie and Porter.”

“Right. I inherited an old-school printing company from my grandfather a month after I graduated from college. In the blink of an eye, I became the sole owner of the company. I knew very little about the print world but I found out quickly because there were fifteen employees depending on me to figure out my ass from a hole in the ground. So that’s what I did. My wife became my personal assistant.” His wife? Well, damn. “My best friend became my manager and pitched the idea of transitioning the company from print to marketing. Logical idea since we live in a digital world. Warren bought in as my partner. Two years after that, he and my wife told me they had fallen in love.” Holy shit. I did not see that coming. “I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. It’s fine. I sold my part of the company to Warren, gave Bridgette a no-fault divorce, and the three of us are still good friends. I was the best man at their wedding.” Damn. Most people in that situation would be too bitter to retain any form of civility but this man chooses friendly terms. And not just cordial ones. Good friends. His words. Dos Equis got it all wrong. This is the world’s most interesting man. “I don’t understand; it was your family business. Shouldn’t they have sold out to you?” It seems the only right thing to have done in that kind of situation. “I was ready to get out; I didn’t enjoy printing or marketing. Warren did and was great at it. He paid me generously for my part, and I was able to move on to Lovibond Brewery, which is something I love. I’m happy where I am so it all worked out as it should.” Ollie’s never told me much about Lucas except the basics. It’s a shame I’ve missed out on meeting him until now. He seems like such a nice guy. “Is that enough for you to feel like you know me a little better?” Can’t fault the man for his openness. “I think it’s enough for now. Except one more thing. How old are you?” He’s owned two businesses and doesn't even look thirty. The first one was given to him, but still. “Twenty-nine.” I thought as much. “I need to hear about you if I’m to consider you someone I know.” He glances at his watch. “But I’m afraid I need to return to the booth. I have a meeting in five minutes.” He looks up at me. Is that remorse I see in his expression? Damn. I wish I could see his eyes behind those dark shades. He smiles, a small half smile that does wobbly things to my insides. He leans forward and licks his lips. “I’m certain that isn’t long enough to learn everything I’d like to know about you.” I admit I struggle to take a breath after that. He must know how sexy he is and has probably used that line before. Lucas Broussard is a flirt. A huge, obviously practiced one.

“I’m as simple as they come.” I hold out my arms, palms side up. “What you see is what you get with me. I could probably tell you everything in under a minute.” “I seriously doubt that.” I look over at the booth behind his back. “I think they’re looking for you.” He twists in his chair for a glance. “That’s my next appointment.” He turns back to me. “So what’s it gonna be, Lawrence? Are you staying or going?” I could go back to Ollie’s, gather my things, and be home before bedtime. But I don’t think that’s what I want to do. “I’ll think about it while you have your meeting.” “Good.” He gets up to leave. “One more thing. Since you asked me, it only seems fair . . . how old are you?” “Thirty-one.” And three-quarters. “Hmm . . . okay.” What does that mean? He’s only a few steps away when he turns and calls out to me. “I hope you decide to stay.” Staying is a definite temptation. Let’s see. Get back in the car and drive six hours to Savannah. Stay right where I am and thoroughly enjoy some Cajun man-candy. Hmm. Should I? Yes, I think I should.

Lucas Broussard

LAWRENCE THORN’S PRESENCE AND THE VIBRATION OF STOUT’S PHONE IN MY BACK POCKET simultaneously distract me. I can barely concentrate on what my customer is saying because I’m sure it’s her blowing up his phone. It was a mistake to encourage Lawrence to stay. Her company is only going to further muddle the already murky waters of what I’m doing for Stout. This is wrong. He shouldn’t have asked me to do this to his sister. And I shouldn’t have agreed. I went along with Stout’s plan when Lawrence Thorn was some faceless person I didn’t know and would likely never meet. But now I have met her. And I like her. I’m interested. I want to know her better. I gesture for my dispensation guy to come over. “This is Matt. He’s in charge of distribution, so I’m going to pass you off to him. He’ll take care of your every need.” I lift a brow and give Matt a quick nod, my cue for him to charm the pants off our new client. I look at the time and find I’m free for a little while. Good. I plan to spend that time getting to know Lawrence, but first I must tend to her latest call, voicemail, and string of texts. Hey loser. Surprise! I’m in Birmingham. I’m at your house so don’t come home and mistake me for an intruder. I’d hate for you to shoot me, bro. Shit. This text is from last night. I was so busy I completely missed it. Where are you? I just met Lucas. He says you left town to see a friend in Memphis.

What friend? What’s going on? I’m worried. I have to be careful with the way I handle this or the shit is going to get deep fast. I need to be clear enough to answer her adequately but vague enough to avoid a problem. I’m in Memphis with a friend from college. One you’ve never met. He’s having a hard time. I came to check on him b/c I was afraid he might do something stupid. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I can’t believe you came to town to surprise me. Wish I were there. I hope that sounds like something Stout would say. And hopefully it’s the right words to put an end to her worries. I’m bummed I missed you but thinking about staying for the festival. Looks like fun. I type out a message but hesitate before sending it. Fuck, it would be so wrong of me to answer Lawrence as her brother and tell her to stay because it’s what I want. Wrong or not, I press send. You should stay and have fun. Porter and Lucas will make sure you have a good time. I include Porter’s name in the message so it’ll seem more authentic. I’m sure Stout would be dependent on him to take care of his sister in his absence. I haven’t talked to Porter yet but Lucas seems very nice. Nice. I’ll take it. How would Stout respond? I’d like to think he’d tell Lawrence I am a nice guy but it feels wrong to build myself up to her. Let me know if they don’t treat you right. I’ll kick their asses. That seems like a legit brotherly response. Will do. Call when you can. Miss you. Love you. Good. She’s ending this run of texting.

I will. Love you too. Have a great time. It feels so strange every time I type “love you.” I can leave things in Molly’s hands for a bit. “Hey, Molly. I’m going to step away from the booth for a little while. I’ll be at a table under the trees if you need me or you can shoot me a text.” “Sure. I’ll let you know if you’re needed.” “Thanks.” I’m walking toward Lawrence when I see Porter has joined her. It would be a fucking disaster if he’s blown my story about Stout’s whereabouts. He really should have checked with me before talking to her so we could get our stories straight. I place a hand on Porter’s shoulder and squeeze when I reach the table. “Hey, man. You’re supposed to be working. Not hanging out with a pretty girl in the shade.” “No ordinary pretty girl here.” I’d agree with that. I don’t know what Porter has said but I need to cue him to the explanation I’ve already given Lawrence. Damn. We should have fabricated this lie together so we’d both be straight. “Damn shame Stout left yesterday to go to Memphis to check on his friend going through the divorce.” “The whole thing is so weird, Porter. I’ve never heard him mention a word about a friend from Memphis. Do you know who he went to see?” I can’t mistake the concern in Lawrence’s tone. Porter comes to full attention, looking at me and then back at Lawrence. “It’s Raleigh, one of our frat brothers from AU. The poor guy is not coping well. Stout was . . . worried so he drove up to check on him.” Good job, Porter. “I guess he understands what his friend is going through because of what happened with Eden. Damn, that woman did a number on my brother.” Lawrence doesn’t know the half of it. The effects of that betrayal sent Stout into a threemonth party spiral, which I blame for the DUI. He would never have done anything like that prior to his breakup with Eden. Porter chuckles. “Want to hear something funny? Eden’s cousin drives one of our delivery trucks. I saw him earlier this week and he told me the man she was cheating with has already left her for someone else.” Lawrence nods. “Everything in life is a matter of cause and effect. She suffers today for yesterday’s wrongdoings. I bet she’s seeing now how good she had it with my brother. He treated her well so I’m worried she’ll try to weasel her way back into his life.” Stout’s not stupid. He recognizes the damage left in her aftermath. “Won’t happen. Eden’s been a lesson well learned for him.” “Are you seeing anyone?” Porter asks. No. She’s single and loving it. Doing what she wants, whenever she likes. Same as me. “Nope. Free as a bird.” I heard Lawrence tell Stout she’s single and loving it but her expression says something else.

“It would be hard for me to picture you any other way.” Porter hits the home button on his phone. “It’s almost three. I’ve gotta run but we have to get together later. It’s been too long since we’ve caught up.” I’ll be the odd man out if I don’t speak up. “We should do dinner.” Porter frowns. “Can’t tonight. Already made plans with Perry from Yankee Brewery.” That does not break my heart. “That’s too bad. I hope we can find some time to catch up before I go home.” “When are you going back?” As long as she doesn’t text Stout while I’m with her, it should be sweet. Lawrence looks at me before answering. “I’ve made arrangements to stay through Monday morning.” “We’ll definitely get together tomorrow.” I’m surprised Porter didn’t jump at the chance to spend time with Lawrence. I had the impression he might have a thing for her. Maybe not. Lawrence’s smile curls but the corners are pinched. “What is it?” “These festivals are all about getting together and having a good time, so how is it possible you don’t have dinner plans?” “Who says I don’t?” Of course I have plans but those can always change. I can’t see her eyes but I strongly suspect they’re narrowed behind those sunglasses. “Don’t tell me you’re canceling on someone to keep me company.” “Okay. I won’t tell you.” She inhales deeply and loudly exhales. “Lucas, that makes me feel terrible. I can’t let you do that.” “It’s a group thing with some other breweries. No big deal. I see them all the time so they won’t miss me. Promise.” “Are you sure?” “Positive.” “Thank you. You’re very sweet.” Wrong. I’m the furthest thing from sweet. “It’s my pleasure. Would you care for another beer?” She shakes her head. “Not right now. Maybe later.” I don’t want to leave her alone again but I have a job to do. “I need to walk around and show my face since Lovibond is hosting this event.” She waves her hand in my direction. “Of course you do.” “It’s going to be hot and miserable, and probably boring as hell, but do you want to go with me to make the rounds?” Beads of sweat rest on her forehead and upper lip. Her sunglasses have slid down her nose, so close to revealing the eyes behind them. I’m dying to see her eyes. I wonder what color they are. “You don’t need me in tow slowing you down. I’ll be fine right here. Go be a host to your people.” I have sixteen booths to visit. People are going to expect me to hang around and talk. “I could be gone a while.” “If you are, then you’re doing your job well.” “I hate the thought of you sitting here alone.”

“I’ll grab another beer and people watch. I figure there’ll be some good entertainment to come along any minute. After all, this is a beer festival with sampling. Someone is bound to act like a fool soon.” She’s so easygoing. And comical. “Okay. Do your people-watching thing and I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.” She props her feet on the adjacent chair. “No hurry. Take your time. It’s all cool here.”

I’M TIED UP MUCH LONGER THAN PLANNED. ALMOST TWO HOURS. LAWRENCE HAS TO BE TIRED OF SITTING around waiting for me. Shit. She’s gone. I hope she didn’t change her mind and take off on me. I scan the crowd in search of a blonde topknot. I see plenty but none belong to her. My eyes seek her red sliced-and-diced Lovibond T-shirt. I think she’s dumped me. “That’s some serious searching you’re doing there. Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help you find them.” Lawrence is standing next to me, pretending to look through imaginary binoculars over the swarm of people. “I appreciate the offer but I think I may have found her.” “Good.” She pretends to toss something over her shoulder. “These binoculars are shit.” “I was planning to take you to an early dinner after I finished rounds, but I ran into someone who’s insisting I meet her and share an order of fried Oreos at one of the food trucks.” “Well, I don’t think it’s possible to pass on her if there are going to be fried Oreos involved.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tilts her head. “We can meet up later. Or I can take a rain check if you’d like to have dinner with her instead.” “I’d like to have dinner with her, but I’d also love for you to join us.” She parts her mouth as though she’s going to say something but then stops. “You can at least enjoy some fried Oreos with us.” “I appreciate you offering to entertain me since Ollie isn’t here but it’s okay. I don’t want to horn in on your date.” This woman seriously thinks I’d asked her to dinner and then drop her for another woman? “You’re not horning in. I want you to come or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“You don’t think she’ll mind?” “No. She’s not like that at all.” Lawrence sighs. “Okay. But I’m out of there if she seems the least bit pissed or irritated about me being around. I don’t do lady drama.” Another thing we have in common. “Understood.” Lawrence doesn’t have a lot to say on the walk to the food vendor area. I can tell she isn’t excited about this at all but she’ll change her mind soon enough. “Unky Bou,” Ava yells as she runs into my arms. I don’t think this child’s feet ever touch the floor in my presence. “Where you been?” Patience isn’t one of Ava’s strengths. “Someone excited for fried Oreos?” Her little head bobs up and down. “Mmm hmm.” “Can you forgive me for being late, love? I had to find my friend.” She shrugs. “It’s otay.” I twist so Ava is face to face with Lawrence. “This is my friend, Lawrence.” “Hello. I Ava.” Lawrence removes her sunglasses and places them on top of her head. Light blue surrounded by long lashes. Beautiful. She squeezes Ava’s arm. “You are precious. Very nice to meet you, Ava.” “I’m Bridgette and this is my husband, Warren.” And here comes the awkward moment where people put everything together. My ex-wife, the cheater. Her husband, my best friend with whom she cheated. Their child, the product of their union. No one gets it. These are my buddies. I don’t hold any kind of grudge against them. I love them and their child. “Nice to meet both of you.” If Lawrence puts together who they are, she never lets on by her reaction. “Lawrence is Stout’s sister. She came to town to surprise him but he left before she got here.” “Ah, that’s too bad. I know he must be disappointed he missed you. Do you live far away?” “Savannah, Georgia.” “That’s about a six-hour drive?” Warren asks. “Yes. A very long six-hour drive when you’re by yourself.” “The upside is the beer festival. Otherwise, I would imagine you’d have been forced to turn around and go home,” Warren says. “Exactly.” Ava pats her palm against my chest. “Unky Bou. Get cookies now?” “Of course, sweetheart.” I look at Bridgette. “Does the other munchkin want some?” She rests her hand on top of her swollen abdomen. “I probably shouldn’t but come on. We’re talking fried Oreos. I don’t know any pregnant woman who could say no to that.”

I look at Lawrence. “You wanna give ’em a try?” She scrunches her nose. “None for me, but thanks.” “Seriously?” Bridgette says. “I’m vegan. I mostly eat all natural and organic if there’s a choice.” I’m not at all surprised. That kind of diet completely fits her lifestyle. “I probably should have told you that when you asked me to dinner.” Bridgette straightens and looks at me, wearing a grin. “You’re having dinner together?” “Yeah.” I run through the list of food vendors in my head. Finch is a local, organic farmer. “I have an option for you when you’re ready—if you don’t mind eating at the festival.” “No problem. I’m fine with eating here.” “Hungry now?” “Yeah. I’m starving. I haven’t had anything but beer since breakfast.” “What about you guys?” “We’ve been here all day so we’re ready to go but we’ve got to get these cookies for the princess before she has a fit. We’ve been putting her off all day,” Warren lowers his voice, “hoping she’d forget about them.” Bridgette elbows me in the ribs. “And we’d done a right nice job until you came along.” I tickle Ava’s chin. “Dessert before dinner. That’s how we roll, isn’t it, Bebelle?” “Bebelle?” Lawrence asks. “It’s Cajun French. It means doll.” And that’s what this little girl is to me. My doll. Ava cackles. “Yes, Unky Bou. Cookies.” Bridgette rolls her eyes. “She’s rotten thanks to you, Boudreaux.” I tilt my head toward Bridgette. “And your p’tit boug will be, too.” But he won’t be sweet and delicate like Ava. I’ll make him rough and tough. Bridgette shakes her head. “You hear that? Boudreaux’s planning to ruin my baby boy as well.” “Ava knows I can’t tell her no.” “And she enjoys every moment of it,” Warren says. I lift my shoulders in a slight shrug. “What can I say? I spoil my beb and she loves it.” Ava pushes her finger through the powdered sugar littering our table, drawing pictures. The mess reminds me of Café du Monde. Minus the pigeons. “Don’t do that, Ave.” Bridgette fetches a wet wipe from her bag and cleans her daughter’s hands. Always sanitizing her. Bridgette better get ready. A boy won’t go for that. “What do you think of the cookies, Bebelle?” “Mmm. Yum . . . mee.” She smiles and black cookie remnants decorate her mouth and teeth.

I burst out laughing. “You have to get a picture of that, Bridg.” “Good Lord.” Bridgette fetches her phone from her bag. “Smile for Mama.” I push the plate toward Ava. “One left. All yours if you want it.” Ava picks up the last cookie and holds it out to Lawrence. “Want it, Wren?” Wren. I like that much better than Law or Lawry. “What a sweet girl you are. Thank you, but the last one should be for you.” “Full,” Ava says. She holds it out to me next. “Unky Bou?” I lean forward and open my mouth so Ava can feed me. Not bad. But I guess anything tastes good deep-fried and covered in powdered sugar. “Likit?” Ava asks. I gobble at her fingers and Ava bursts into laughter. “Cookie monster like. He may eat fingers too.” Bridgette gathers the plate and wipes down the table. “You ready to go, Warren?” “Whenever you are, baby.” Bridge lifts a foot and extends it. “I think I need to get home so I can put these up. They feel like they’re twice their normal size.” Swelling to the face and hands. Headaches. Blurred Vision. All of those things were symptoms that happened prior to the seizure Bridgette had the day she gave birth to our son. We were too young and stupid to know something was seriously wrong. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I thought she was dying. “None of the other problems are happening?” I don’t have to go into details about what I mean. Bridgette knows. “Not a one.” Warren grasps my shoulder and squeezes. “The doctor told us a little swelling was normal but said she should elevate her feet when it happens. We’re watching everything carefully.” Warren has only seen Bridgette carry a perfect child full-term during an uncomplicated pregnancy. He wouldn’t be so at ease if he’d seen the things I had. She comes over and wraps her arms around me. “My feet will go up the minute I get home. I’ll notify the doctor immediately if I have any problems or feel like something’s not right.” “I know you’re cautious. I just—” She grabs the sides of my face. “You definitely enjoy being a pain in my ass. But I wouldn’t have it any other way, pest.” Bridgette moves on to Lawrence, embracing her the same way as me. It’s her way. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” “The pleasure was all mine. Early congratulations on your upcoming arrival.” “Thank you.” I lift Ava into my arms and squeeze her lightly while rubbing my beard against her face. “Love you, Bebelle. Be a sweet girl for Mama.” As per usual, she strokes my beard with the palm of her hand as we say goodbye.

“Love you, Unky Bou.” When Ava finishes with me, she skips over to Lawrence and throws herself into her arms. “Bye, Wren.” Wren. “I very much enjoyed meeting you, little missy. I know you’re going to make an excellent big sister when your baby brother arrives.” “Best eva.” I look at Lawrence when Bridgette, Warren, and Ava are gone. Her elbow is propped on the table, her head tilted so her hand can fidget with the knot on top of her head. Her eyes are wide and intently focused on me. I think she’s trying to figure out what just went down. “I know what you’re thinking.” “Enlighten me. I’d love to know what you believe is in my head right now.” “You’re trying to make sense of what you just saw.” “Maybe.” Maybe, my ass. “You wouldn’t be the first to be confused by us.” “No one understands your relationship, and you’re okay with that. I get it and I think it’s great.” I can’t recall ever hearing that kind of response from anyone. I almost think she’s fucking with me. “Really?” “Yeah. The dynamics of your relationship are fascinating.” “Fascinating? I guess. Hard as hell? Definitely.” People love to judge. Many haven’t been kind to Bridgette but I could never sit back and allow anyone to hurt her. She was my best friend. And I wasn’t the only one forced into a marriage I didn’t want. “I would love to hear more but what do you say we grab some dinner first? I’m starving.” “I could go for some food.” This girl is way more than I expected. Annoying, incessant texter she is not. Beautiful, insightful, and sexy she is. Yeah, definitely want some more Wren time.

Lawrence Thorn

LUCAS BROUSSARD, THE WORLD’S MOST INTERESTING MAN, JUST BECAME A LITTLE MORE INTRIGUING. I would not have guessed in a million years my brother’s business partner would be so riveting. I’ve never been married so I don’t understand the dynamics between a husband and wife. I certainly don’t understand the relationships between a divorcé and divorcée. But I don’t have to in order to realize Lucas and Bridgette are the exception to every rule. This isn’t just kindness toward his ex-wife and the best friend who married her. It’s clear he truly loves them and their daughter. And their son, who will be arriving in a couple months from the looks of things. What drives this man to be like that? “I want to hear more.” “What would you like to know?” “Anything. Everything.” Lucas laughs at my response. “Long or short version?” “Long.” I think I’ll need it to understand. “Bridgette was my best friend in high school. We did everything together, which helped make the move from Louisiana easier, that’s for sure.” I try to picture younger versions of Lucas and Bridgette hanging out the way I did with Ivy and Kelsey but I can’t quite conjure an image of him without that beard. “‘I don’t know why you guys don’t date. You’d be perfect together.’ It’s all we ever heard from the other kids, teachers, parents. Everyone.” “I can see where you’d begin to question the validity in it. A kid is impressionable.” “Exactly. So I started wondering if I was wearing a blinder because I didn’t want to see how perfect we’d be together.” “You obviously decided to listen to what everyone was saying.” It’s always a mistake to listen to others instead of your heart. “I asked Bridgette if she wanted to give us a try, to see if everyone knew what they were talking about.” “And she was willing.”

“No. She told me to never mention it again or she’d punch me in the nuts.” That’s a little unexpected. And funny. “I didn’t bring it up again but she did a couple of years later after we went to college. A couple of months in, we decided to give sex a try. Huge mistake. I don’t think we even had our clothes back on when we agreed it should never happen again.” But it must have. “You married her.” “We had sex that one time and she got pregnant.” “Oh, God.” Worst-case scenario. “We decided the best thing for our child was to marry and co-parent him together.” Amazing. Even as teenagers, Lucas and Bridgette chose to do what they thought was best for the welfare of their child over their own happiness. Far more than our grown parents ever did for Ollie and me. Ava and the new baby were the only children mentioned today. I have that awful feeling in my gut that something bad must have happened. “Bridgette was about halfway through the pregnancy when we found out our son had bilateral renal agenesis. His kidneys failed to develop, which means a death sentence within hours of being born.” “I’m so very sorry.” I don’t know what else to say to that. “Bridgette got really sick and developed eclampsia when she was almost eight months pregnant.” “I don’t know what that is.” “A condition pregnant women get. All I really remember is how badly Bridg was swollen. She told me she had a terrible headache and blurry vision. I was a kid. I didn’t know what to do so I took her to the hospital. When we got there, her blood pressure was sky high. One minute she’s talking to me, the next she’s having a seizure. Scared the shit out of me. I thought she was dying.” “How do you treat something like that?” “They gave her medicine to stop the seizure and took her to surgery for a Csection. Eli died before she made it out of the recovery room.” “Oh, no. She didn’t get to hold him.” “Not while he was alive. But I did. And that’s where he died. In my arms instead of hooked up to machines that wouldn’t save him anyway.” “That’s heartbreaking.” “The doctor told us any children we conceived together had an increased risk of developing the same disorder.” “So it’s genetic?” “From what I understand, we both carry the gene for renal agenesis. It usually presents with one kidney missing, which is okay. People can live with one. But because Bridgette and I both carry the gene, our son inherited the bilateral version. Both were missing.” That must have been terrible to lose a child and then be told any others they had would likely suffer the same fate. “That’s a tough thing to hear at any age.” “There we were . . . nineteen and stuck. And no baby, the only glue holding us

together. We talked about trying to make our marriage real but that required sex. Even if I could have looked at her as anything other than a sister, neither of us were willing to risk another pregnancy, birth control or not.” Shit. I guess that means they never had sex with each other again. But they were married. Did they just go without or screw around on each other? I’m surprised by the sickening feeling in my stomach when I think of Lucas taking a lover. “How long were you married?” “Six years by the time our divorce was final. But I guess we were about three years in when we agreed to an open marriage.” Fuck. An open marriage? “You were married six years and dating during three of them?” “No. I stopped wearing my wedding band after we made the decision to see other people but it took me a year to ease into the idea. We might not have been in love but she was still my wife. Having a relationship outside the boundaries of our marriage felt . . . wrong.” Knowing he didn’t jump at the first chance to fuck around just earned him a few points in my book. “Why not divorce? It makes so much more sense.” “I think it’s something we both thought we’d pursue once we were in a better place. But Eli’s death caused Bridgette to have severe depression. It was a year before she even resembled the person she once was. I was afraid of causing a setback if I asked for a divorce. So I adjusted to the idea of being married but not a couple.” This doesn’t make sense to me. “She became well enough to suggest you have an open marriage but not divorce?” “We decided it made better financial sense to stay together a couple more years. We had every intention of ending the marriage after we graduated from college and got on our feet.” I was once a young adult on my own for the first time. I understand how having someone to absorb half the expenses would be beneficial. “Bridg and I actually had an appointment with a divorce lawyer when my grandfather passed away, and I inherited his business.” “Another delay.” “We refer to our marriage as a series of unfortunate events.” It does seem fate was trying to force them to stay together. “But I’m happy I had Bridgette by my side. She was my rock when I stepped into my grandfather’s role at the company.” Until she became Warren’s rock. “Bridgette and Warren never had a thing for each other before they worked together?” “Warren was my best friend from Louisiana, but we kept up after I moved. They didn’t know each other until he came to work for me.” I noticed Warren had a Cajun twang but not like Lucas. Or maybe I noticed his more because he’s so damn sexy. “They met and the sparks flew?” A smile spreads as he chews. “Something like that.”

I think I would feel like I’d lost some of the best years of my life if I were married to a man I didn’t love. “I’ve seen that look before.” “What look would that be?” “Confusion.” He’s reading me like a book. He’s right, though. I am highly confused by the things he’s told me. “I can’t deny I’m bewildered by the decisions you made.” “I know it’s difficult to understand. It must sound ridiculous when you hear the story of those six years over a five-minute span. But it’s like a car accident when you try to recall the way things happened. It played out so fast I can hardly remember it now. Hell, the whole thing doesn’t even make sense to me as I sit here telling you. One thing’s for sure. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Lessons were learned. I would do things much differently if I had it to do over again.” Being so engrossed in his story, I haven’t eaten a bite of my dinner, so I cut a slit down the middle of my sweet potato. “I thought I was the nonconformist but I believe you’ve beat me out of that title.” He watches me dress my potato with fresh, organic butter and brown sugar. “I bet you’re still plenty unconventional.” “I don’t know about that. I’m feeling a little inferior next to you.” “Tell me about Wren Thorn. I bet she has plenty of interesting facets to her life.” Wren. It was adorable when Ava said it, and strangely enough, it sounds right coming from Lucas. Weird. Lucas has been so open about his personal life. I feel like I owe him the same in return, but I have no idea where to begin. “What do you want to know about me?” “Ever been married?” “No.” I tell everyone I’m content with single life but that’s not the whole truth. I’d love to start a family. “Ever been in love?” I was never a dreamy teenage girl who fancied herself in love with every boy she met. “Not that I’m aware.” “Me either. But I know you’ve been in lust at some point.” “Not really.” I sound like a total prude. “Come on. You’ve never been with a man you wanted so badly you thought you’d go crazy if you didn’t have him right then and there?” “I’m not like that.” What does that even mean? “Not like what? Sexual?” His eyes roam from my face down my body and he licks his lips. Shit. “I find that impossible to believe.” “I don’t mean I’m not sexual or I don’t like sex. I just don’t need a man to feel fulfilled.” But I think that would change with the right one. “Maybe not but you need one to be filled.” He laughs huskily. “Well, not exactly.” I guess that can be taken more than one way. “Oh. You prefer women?” I can see where he might have gathered that. “No, I’m attracted to men. What I

mean is that I don’t need a man to feel whole. I’m happy being single . . . until I’m not.” I want to be married, but at the same time, I have no intention of wasting my time with a man who isn’t my future. “You’re an asexual?” I’m not being very clear here. “I’m very open to falling in love. I would jump headfirst for the right man if he came along. But he hasn’t. I’m not half a person looking for someone to complete me. I’m whole on my own.” It took years of therapy to recognize my self-worth. “I have friends, a wonderful family, and a successful business.” Lucas pops a French fry into his mouth. “Right. You told me you were a business owner. Tell me about it.” Good. Thank goodness we’re abandoning the relationship issue. “It’s a retail shop called Law’s Attraction Boutique. Named for the law of attraction and because my friend’s call me Law.” “Clever name.” I wonder if he even knows what the law of attraction is. Or anything about the type person I am. “Has Ollie told you much about me?” “A little.” Figures. Ollie isn’t known for spilling much. “I’m not exactly your typical kind of girl.” Lucas laughs. “No, you’re definitely not. And it’s one of the things I like about you.” He likes that about me? I believe Mr. Broussard is back to flirting. “Have you ever been to River Street?” “Never even been to Savannah.” “That’s a shame. My hometown is beautiful. You have to come when you have the chance. Consider this your official invitation.” Did I just invite Lucas Broussard to come to my town? Yes, I did. “I hear it’s a beautiful city.” “It is and I love it. My shop faces the Savannah River. Best view in the city if you ask me.” “Sounds much better than the one we have of the parking lot at the brewery.” Yeah. That would be depressing. “Tell me more about your boutique.” “I sell a wide variety of things. Of course there’s the usual stuff like clothing, jewelry, bags, and aromatherapy supplies.” “And then there’s stuff people don’t consider usual?” I think Ollie may have told him more than he lets on. “Essential oils. Healing crystals. Herbs for herbalism. I’m fascinated by holistic healing. But that doesn’t mean I think one shouldn’t seek medical attention if needed. I’m not a quack. Nor am I into witchcraft.” Might as well put it out there now. “Why would anyone think you’re a witch?” “Many of the items I carry in the store are used in spells. Some people think that means I practice witchcraft or voodoo. All idiots. I guess it’s more interesting to say I sell rose oil for love spells rather than for its all natural medicinal properties.”

“I don’t know anything about that kind of stuff.” Most people don’t. “It’s intriguing.” “Give me an example.” “Okay. I used to have trouble sleeping. A few drops of lavender oil on my pillow fixed that. I sleep like a baby, and I’m energized when I wake. A few drops in my cleanser help my skin stay clear and healthy. Peppermint oil is great for congestion, nausea, and headaches. That’s just a few uses. There’re so many I could go on and on.” “Ah, lavender. That’s the scent I’ve noticed every time I’m near you. It’s very nice.” When was the last time a man told me I smelled nice? Has it been that long since I’ve had someone interested in me? Is that why I’ve felt a little alone lately? Is that also why I’m sticking around for the weekend? Or is that just the sexy man sitting in front of me? “What do you do when you’re not working?” “I hang out with friends, go to the beach, do yoga, volunteer at the humane society.” “You’re an animal lover?” “Yeah, but I don’t have any pets. I get my animal fix by helping out at the shelter.” I wish I had time to devote to a pet but I stay at the shop for too many hours at a time to leave an animal alone. “Are Ivy and Kelsey uninhibited like you?” Lucas is more aware of things about me than I thought. “How do you know of my friends?” His eyes widen. “Oliver has talked about them.” “I bet. Did he also tell you how hard he crushes on both?” “He might have mentioned something about them being hot.” I thought he might. “They aren’t like me. Ivy is a nurse so she has a completely different mindset when it comes to healing. Kelsey is a loan officer at a bank. Both of them are very analytical.” “And you’re abstract. I bet that causes some debates.” “Not really. They respect my opinion as I do theirs.” We’ve been friends for a long time and it’s never been an issue. “You agree to disagree.” “Mostly.” My attention is stolen when my ears perk up for a rendition of Twin Forks’ “Kiss Me Darling.” I love that song so much, and perhaps it speaks more about me than I thought. It’s been a long time indeed. “What is it?” Lucas asks. “That song. I can’t believe the band is playing it. It’s one of my favorites.” Lucas stands and offers his hand. “Then we have no choice but to dance if it’s one of your favorites.” He holds my hand as he leads me to the crowd around the folk rock band on the

small stage. “No one else is dancing.” Lucas gestures toward a drunken man doing something I don’t classify as dancing. “Not true. Look at him. He’s gettin’ down.” The guy stumbles and nearly face-plants. “He’s going to get down all right.” And possibly not get up. “He’s having a good time.” Lucas spins me outward and twirls me back so I’m pressed against his chest. “And so are we.” He guides me backward, holding my hands while swaying to the beat of the music. He’s leading me to move with him. Not a bad dancer. “Come on, Wren. You don’t strike me as one who cares what people think of you on the dance floor. Let go. I dare you.” He wants me to let go? I can do that. There’s very little I do better. I grab his hands and use them to propel myself away. I release one and spin back into his arms so my back is pressed to his front. Let’s see what he thinks of that. He laces his fingers through mine and his arms wrap around me, holding my body close as we sway with the upbeat tempo of the folk song. And I let him. This shouldn’t feel this good with a man I hardly know. But it does. I close my eyes and surrender to the music. And to the way this man’s arms feel around me. Everything I told him about not needing a man to feel complete was true. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the feel of one. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched like this. I miss it. I didn’t realize how much until this moment. There’s been no one since Xavier. Not since the night he pulled my hair and held me down. “You are mine and no one else’s.” He was rough. Painful. Nothing hot or sexy about it. I saw a Jimmy-like possessiveness in his eyes that night. Fucking scary as hell. I don’t want to think about that. I prefer to enjoy being in the arms of Lucas. Dancing is an acceptable disguise for touching. Rubbing. It’s like making out with your clothes on. When the song ends, no one has to explain anything. It’s perfectly acceptable to pretend the only thing you did was move to the music. I press my body against Lucas and use my hands to encourage a tighter hold around me. Our embrace grows firmer. The tickle of his beard and warmth of his breath against my neck send a tingle down my body, a message signaling goosebumps to erupt over my skin. No man has done that, or had this kind of effect on me, in ages. Lucas rubs his hands up and down my pimpled skin. Oh, God. He’s taken notice. He feels and sees the proof of what he’s doing to me. It’s a physical reaction I can’t control. There’s no denying or hiding it. Shit. I hear the chorus of “Kiss Me Darling” coming from his lips, the ones so close to my ear. More goosebumps. As if I didn’t have enough already. “You know this song?” “Listen to it all the time.” Lucas knowing this song is unexpected. Him singing it is hot. Hearing him say those words against my ear is a huge turn-on.

He squeezes my hand when the female’s solo approaches. “Your part.” I tilt my head from side to side to keep tempo and follow his cue to sing when the girl’s lines start. I can’t sing for shit. I should be embarrassed. But I’m not. I’m having too much fun to care how pitiful my voice sounds. The crowd claps and yells when the song ends. Lucas releases me, and we join in praising the band, but it’s over too soon. I wasn’t ready for him to let go. “That was fun.” “It was. I wish I could hang out here longer but I’m judging a home brew contest in twenty minutes. I should probably make my way to the judge’s tent so Porter doesn’t send someone looking for me.” “Probably a good idea.” I’m sure I’ve kept Lucas from his responsibilities long enough. “Wanna come with me?” I want to but Lucas is a host at this festival. This is work for him. He should be networking and ensuring things run smoothly. Not entertaining me. I’m preventing him from properly doing his job. “I don’t want to hinder you.” “Not possible, so come with me.” He acts like he wants me to go. I think he would have dropped it if he didn’t. “Okay.” We pass all kinds of activities on the way to the competition booth. Cornhole boards. Life-size mechanical . . . something. Beer pong. I had no idea there were so many things to do. “Whoever organized all of this did a great job.” “We hired a professional event organizer, but she’d never done a beer festival before. Stout, Porter, and I mostly came up with this stuff.” “Who suggested beer pong?” “That was Stout.” I knew the answer before I asked. “I figured. He was the beer pong champion in his fraternity.” “There was a 3K this morning. The organizer insisted we do that.” I’m not a runner but I might have walked it had I known there was one. “A marathon before a beerathon. Nice.” “I thought it was a mistake but Lisa was right. We had a huge turnout.” You can never go wrong with a race. “People like stuff like that.” “I guess.” “You’re not a runner?” “No. You?” I’m fine with exercise but running is not my thing. Too jiggly. I prefer something calming. “I’m more of a yoga and meditation sort of girl.” “I can see that about you.” I’m surprised by the large crowd at the judges’ tent. “Looks like you had a lot of entries.” “Yes, I think there’re fifty-five.” Shit. That’s a lot of beer even if you only taste them. “You’re going to be drunk as a skunk by the time you finish sampling all those beers.”

Lucas chuckles. “I’ll probably have to take a cab home.” “I have my car. I’m happy to give you a ride.” I bet the police will be out and about looking to handout DUIs. “Porter is splitting the categories with me. I’m judging IPA and the pales, reds, and browns. He’s taking the porters and stouts and anything falling into the other category: sours, lagers, etcetera.” “A sour beer.” The thought of it makes my face pucker. “That sounds weird. I’m not sure who’d want to drink that.” “You’d be surprised.” His brows lift and the corners of his mouth turn up. “You should do the tasting with me.” I can’t judge beer. “I’m not familiar enough with it to know what the different types should taste like.” “It’s called quantitative parameters. Stout and Porter taught me. I’ll teach you.” Beer is my brother’s livelihood. I wouldn’t mind learning more about it. Maybe then I’ll understand what sparked his interest in brewing. “I think I’d like that.” Lucas holds up a single finger to a man wearing a Lovibond T-shirt. “We need another chair at the judges’ table for Miss Thorn.” Porter approaches me from behind and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “You’re going to help Tap judge his categories?” I’ve heard Ollie call Lucas by that name. “Tap’s an interesting nickname.” “Yes, it is.” Porter leans his head toward mine and lowers his voice. “You should ask him how he got it. Rather interesting story.” I can think of three ways the word tap is used. “I’m going to assume it’s related to sex since you’re laughing like a thirteen-year-old boy.” “Not for me to say, Law.” He brings up the name and then leaves me hanging. It’s like he’s trying to pique my curiosity enough to make me ask Lucas about it. He’s stirring the shit and backing away. I hate when people do that. “Then it’s not for me to ask, Porter.” If Lucas wants me to know, he’ll volunteer the information himself. Lovibond T-shirt guy is back with my chair. “Where you want this, boss?” “I got it.” Lucas takes the chair from his employee and places it next to the empty one. “It’s about that time. Ready to get started?” “Ready as I’ll ever be.” There must be at least thirty bottles on the table. “We have to taste all of these?” “Yeah. Think you’re up for the challenge?” My stomach bloats just looking at them. They’re going to be heavy. I just know it. “I don’t know. That’s a lot of beer.” “Probably not as much as you think. Consider how many drinks you take from a single beer. You probably will end up drinking two full beers by tasting each of these.” “That’s good because I never have more than three.” I’m not a fuddy-duddy but

I never allow myself more than I can handle. I refuse to be out of control like Jimmy and Christie. There are rows of glasses in front of Lucas. Each is a different shape and size. “I wasn’t expecting help with the judging so I didn’t send an extra set of glasses. I hope you don’t mind drinking with me from the same one.” There must be at least a dozen here. “I don’t mind sharing but why would we need to? Looks like there are plenty here to me.” “Glassware makes a huge difference. The vessel is the first thing you see. Beer that looks pleasing to the eye has already started the mental process for positive thinking and enjoyment.” “Like food. The aroma is a huge percentage of what one tastes.” “Exactly. And the shape of the glass affects the formation and retention of the head, which acts as a net to catch the hop oils, spices, and fermentation byproducts evaporating from the beer. Those compounds produce the aroma.” “This is an IPA. India pale ale.” Lucas pops the top of the first beer and pours it into a wide-mouthed goblet. A thick foam forms on the top. “A healthy head of foam can help retain volatiles, and using different glassware allows for different levels of head retention, which affects the aroma of your drink.” “This one gives good head?” A deep chuckle leaves his chest and I realize the innuendo. “Yes. It gives good head.” “Copper in color.” He watches it settle in the glass. “There’s lace around the edge of the goblet. That’s a very good sign.” He looks at the label. “Eight percent alcohol. Impressive.” Lucas brings it to his nose and sniffs before passing it to me. “Sweet golden malt with a touch of Belgian candy sugar. Slightly fruity hops with hints of lemon and wheatgrass. Also a hint of very light spice.” He passes the glass in my direction and I mimic his sniffing method. I’m lost. I pick up on a little citrus and spice. Maybe. “My nose needs training. Nothing about that smells like candy to me.” “It takes time and experience. I didn’t learn it in one sitting.” Lucas takes a drink and then another. “Smooth malty body. Warm golden malt with a dry sweetness.” He passes the glass to me, and again, I mimic what he did. “I’m picking up on fruitiness.” “Exactly. Fruity hops of apple and berry. There’s a touch of Belgian yeast at the end with fruitier notes on the aftertaste.” “It’s good. I like it.” That sounds like a dumb response after the detailed description he gave. Lucas scribbles his thoughts on a scorecard. Lord, that looks like chicken scratch. “Well balanced. Very drinkable. A nice way to begin the competition. This one is a definite contender.” He pushes the card across the table in my direction. “Have anything you want to

say about it?” “Will the brewer see this?” I don’t want my comments to look amateur if he or she will be given the scorecard. “This is for our eyes only. Molly will provide entrants with professional feedback based on what we say. It’s okay to say it sucks. Because I promise we will come across plenty that do.” I take the pen from his hand. I read my comment aloud as I write while biting the inside of my bottom lip to prevent my lips from curling at the corners. “Gives good head.” I slide the scorecard back to Lucas. “How’s that?” A series of quiet chuckles leaves his chest. “I’ve always thought good head deserved recognition.” I don’t think we’re talking about beer anymore. He reaches for the next bottle. “And . . . moving on.”

Lucas Broussard

I WATCH WREN’S PLUMP LIPS WRAP AROUND THE INNER AND OUTER RIM OF THE GLASS AS SHE SAMPLES A nutty brown ale. Her tongue darts out to catch a dribble from the corner of her mouth. Sexy as hell. Who knew a home brew competition could be such a turn-on? “It’s definitely nutty.” She reaches for the dark bottle. “What is that? Hazelnut?” “Maple Pecan.” She brings it to her nose and deeply draws breath into her lungs. “Maple Pecan, huh?” She samples it again. I watch for a trickle of ale in the corner of her mouth a second time, hoping to see the tip of her tongue catch it. I get nothing. “It’s good but it doesn’t beat Lovibond’s hazelnut.” “That was the last one. Time to choose a winner for this division.” I’m a little sad we’re finished. I’ve enjoyed spending this time with Wren. I drag the three best bottles of home brew in front of us. “These are the top contenders. Which one was your favorite?” She pushes one bottle backward. “The hops were too heavy on this one. Its aftertaste was too bitter and long-lasting for me.” Her assessment is correct. This one is a quick learner. “The bitterness definitely lingered longer in that one than the others.” I already know which I like best of the remaining two but I’m interested to see what she says. “Did you favor one of these over the other?” “I think so but I should probably compare these two again since the others have now been eliminated.” I pour samples of the remaining candidates into glasses side by side. “Both have good head.” I cut my eyes over at her and see a suppressed grin. Is she flirting? “And lacing is mostly equal.” I analyze all components and grade the beers on a point system including aroma, appearance, flavor, mouth feel and overall impression. “It’s close but I am partial to one.”

“For me, the saison beats out the IPA by a narrow margin. I’m sucked in by its fruity essence.” And I’m also sucked in by those baby-blue eyes. Glad we share the same opinion. “We agree on the winner. I think our work here is done.” Wren leans forward and rests her elbow on the table with her chin propped in her palm. Head tilted. Dilated pupils. Rosy cheeks. Nibbling on her bottom lip. I know that look. It happens to be one I like very much. “You’re feeling pretty good, aren’t you?” “I have no complaints.” She giggles as she leans over and pokes me in my ribs. “You said I’d have two beers, tops. You lie.” The last word comes out sounding like a hiss. “I didn’t know you’d take your job as judging assistant so seriously.” I expected Wren to sip the first few beers and then leave the rest to me. I had no idea she’d sample most of them multiple times. People aren’t always fans of craft beer. It’s different from what they’re used to tasting. But then again, she is the sister of a craft brew master. She’s probably accustomed to the different tastes by now. “Allow me to tell you a little something about me, Lucas. I don’t halfway do anything.” She leans closer so we’re eye to eye. “I go all the way.” I go all the way. Damn. My dick twitches the instant those words leave her pouty pink lips. I could kiss the fuck out of her right now. Porter’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “How’d it go over here? Discover any good ones?” “We had two high scorers. Each was pretty impressive.” I pour samples of both and push them in his direction. “A Belgian IPA and a saison.” One brow lifts. “Nice. I haven’t had a new saison in a while.” Porter and Stout taught me everything I know about craft beer. Some factors depend upon personal preference, but I’m curious to hear his opinion. His eyes widen. “This saison is excellent stuff. I definitely prefer it.” “We chose that one too.” “It’s considerably better than the winner for my category. Looks like a saison is going to be the overall best in show.” Porter takes another drink of the beer and nods. “I wouldn’t mind working on a saison recipe with Stout when he feels up to it.” Wren spins in her chair to look at Porter. “When he feels up to it? What does that mean?” Well, fuck. Way to go, Porter. I lean behind Wren’s back and throw my hands in the air. I mouth, “What the fuck?” Maybe now I understand a little better why Stout left this in my hands instead of Porter’s. He looks at me and then back to Wren. Come on, dude. Pull it together. This is starting to look fishy. “I just meant he’ll probably be tired from his trip. Traveling usually takes it out

of me. I need time to recuperate.” Nice save. I hope. “Oh, yeah. I’m sure you’re right.” That’s all she says. Damn, we dodged a bullet that time. I’m pretty sure it’s all thanks to the alcohol she has on board. She might not have let that one go otherwise. I need to get Wren away from Porter if he’s going to be so careless with his words. “There’s a new band on stage. I think you’ll like them.” That’s a damn lie. I have no idea who’s playing. “I’ve heard they’re really good. Want to check them out?” She shrugs. “Sure. I’m up for it.” I swear this is a record for me. I’ve never told so many lies in one evening. Thanks a lot, Stout. Wren grasps my upper arm and stops dead in her tracks. “What the hell is that thing?” “A mechanical buffalo. Buck. He’s the mascot for Triple B. Bucking Bison Brewery. They bring him to all the festivals.” I follow Wren over to the enclosure around Buck. “I guess the concept is the same as a mechanical bull?” “Yeah. Buck draws a lot of attention at events.” It’s a brilliant marketing strategy. I’m a little jealous we don’t have something like him for Lovibond. Wren doesn’t take her eyes off the rider on his back. “Can we watch for a minute?” “If you want to.” I don’t mind. I love watching Buck the buffalo knock cocky bastards on their asses. The enclosure is surrounded by spectators, but we find an opened spot to stand and watch. “Check out this guy. He looks like he thinks he has this in the bag.” He’s young and fit. Judging by the size of his arms and chest, he spends a lot of time in the gym. He fits the type who’d think he was too tough to be thrown. Wren gestures toward a group of guys taunting him about a bet regarding how long he’ll stay on the ride. “That has to be his posse.” “Probably.” Looks like a bunch of frat brothers to me. I glance over to see who’s running the controls. He’s got the ride of his life coming up. “Billy doesn’t take it easy on his kind. He’ll toss his ass fast.” “How long does Billy give you before he puts you on your ass?” Billy may be one of my friends but he has zero mercy on me. He loves to see me get thrown. “Not long. I can promise you that.” She leans closer and elbows me in my side. “I would love to see you get bucked.” I love the way she just said bucked. Reminds me of fucked. “I only ride after hours. And following many drinks. That’s when it’s the most fun.” We make a game of it to see how fast each of us can be thrown. Probably not the safest thing in the world to do. “Drunk bucking?” She hit the nail on the head. “That’s actually what we call it.” “I wanna drunk bunk. Drunk buck. Shit, that’s kinda hard to say.” It is after

you’ve had drinks. I’m not sure that’s a great idea. Wren has to be pretty tight. Even I have a buzz and I’m used to lots of drinks. “Stout would kill me if I let you get hurt.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re as bad as him.” She’s an adult but I feel responsible for her. “Stout would expect me to watch over you. Keep you safe.” A quick exhale leaves her lungs. “I won’t get hurt.” It’s only a matter of seconds before cocky bastard loses his seat on Buck. He plummets to the padded flooring and punches his fist into it. “Motherfucker.” I’m not at all happy about his use of profanity for anyone around to hear. This is a public event. Just because it’s a beer festival doesn’t mean anything goes. “That doesn’t sound like happiness in his voice.” “No, it doesn’t.” I notice the line of people at the entrance to enter the pen. “There are quite a few people ahead of you. Sure you want to wait? I know a guy. He can get you in after hours. No wait.” “I’m good with waiting. It’s fine if you need to be somewhere. You can go.” No way I’m leaving Wren to do this without my supervision. “Nah. I have nowhere to be.” We watch one after another plummet to the padded flooring until it’s Wren’s turn. “I’m up. Got any pointers for me?” “Hold on tight.” “Yeah. I sort of guessed that one.” “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses is blaring as Wren climbs onto Buck’s back. She grips the braided rope with one hand and holds the other in the air. “Does this look right?” “Looks good to me.” Photo worthy. She adjusts one last time in the saddle. “Okay. I think I’m ready.” I leave the enclosure and join Billy at the controller. “Go easy on this one.” “Let me guess. You don't want her hurt because you plan on fucking her later?” I wish. “No, asshole. She's my business partner’s sister. He'll be pissed off if she gets hurt.” I got Wren drunk. I don’t need to add injured to the list. Neither will go over well with Stout. “You got it, Tap.” Wren is sitting astride Buck, her back arched, tits pushed forward, and legs wrapped around him tightly. The position isn’t unlike what I’d imagine if she were riding someone during sex. There goes my dick twitching again. Man, I gotta stop having sexual fantasies about this woman. Wren is off limits. Stout said so. “You can give her a little more.” This should be at least a little bit of fun for her. Billy spins the buffalo in the opposite direction and Wren nearly comes

unseated. “Uh oh. ’Bout lost her then. Not going to take too much more to throw her.” “Probably not since she helped me judge the home brew contest.” She put away a lot of alcohol for someone who says she never drinks more than a few beers. Billy spins her one direction and then another. Wren uses her free hand to wave. She looks like she’s having fun. “Ready for me to knock her off?” She’s been riding for a while. “Yeah, but do it as gently as possible.” Billy increases Buck’s speed. “You don't fool me. Business partner’s sister or not, you’re going to fuck this one.” “Regrettably, I won’t.” I’d love nothing more but I can’t risk my professional relationship with Stout. He’s already been clear where Wren is concerned. Billy forces the buffalo’s head to dip. Wren holds tightly around its neck as it convulses. “What the hell are you doing? The damn thing looks like it's having a seizure.” “Maybe, but ain't the view nice?” Wren is head down, ass up, with her skirt hiked high on her thighs. “Ain't that the position you plan on having her in later?” I’m already having plenty of inappropriate thoughts without him saying and doing shit like that. “Shut up, Billy, and knock her off.” “Alrighty. Here we go.” Billy spins the buffalo and lifts the head so the back dips, dumping Wren ass first on the padded floor. Looks like a pretty painless dismount and landing. “Thanks.” “Anytime. Now go be a gentleman and help your girl up.” My girl? Wren is lying flat on her back with her arms outstretched. Her legs are bent at the knees and spread apart. This isn't helping my problematic case of dick twitch. She isn’t making a move to get up. Oh, shit. Is she hurt? “You okay?” “Yeah.” She rises to a sitting position and reaches for my hands. The skin crinkles around the corners of her mouth as laughter erupts. “Oh my God. That was so much fun.” I pull on Wren’s arms to help her stand. “You stayed up there like an experienced rider.” She pats her hands against her thighs. “It's the yoga. It strengthens and conditions my legs. I can lock these babies around anything and hang on like a champ.” Fuck. Me. Not helping, Wren. “Hey, baby. Way to hang on.” Ah. Cocky bastard stuck around to watch Wren ride. “Thanks. That was my first time so I wasn’t exactly sure what to do.” “You looked like an expert to me. I’d love for you to ride me like that.” Drunken fucker. Wren’s back stiffens as her eyes narrow and nostrils flare. She drops her flipflops on the ground and uses me to balance while she slips into them. “What a dick. Who says something like that to a woman?”

I take a step toward her offender when she releases her hold on me. I have every intention of putting him in his place but she wraps her hand around my bicep. “Don’t. Drunks are belligerent. Confronting them gains nothing. It’s best to walk away.” Does she know this from experience? He has an arrogant air about him so I suspect she’s right. But I can’t let this one go. “As host of this event, I have a responsibility to all attendees at the festival.” He doesn’t get to be rude and offensive because he’s had too much to drink. “You shouldn’t approach him alone.” I’m not going to approach him at all. “This is a perfect example of why I hired security.” I see Patrick making rounds so I wave him over. “Watch this guy in the ball cap and black T-shirt like a hawk. He’s going to fuck up. It’s only a matter of time. When he does, I want his ass out of here. Got it?” “My eyes are glued to him.” Patrick is an off-duty police officer so I have all confidence he’ll handle the situation appropriately. I can ease up, knowing it’s only a matter of time before this antagonistic ass is kicked out of the festival. “Problem solved.” “Then your duties here are done.” She takes my hand. “Can we go listen to the new band on stage?” A mischievous grin spreads. “And maybe dance if the music is good.” “Only if we dance like we did last time.” Fuck. I so should not have suggested that. Dancing with her had been unbelievably hot. Off limits, Broussard. Off. Limits.

Lawrence Thorn

I’M BUMMED WHEN THE LAST BAND OF THE NIGHT FINISHES ITS FINAL SONG. THAT’S THE END OF OUR DIRTY dancing. And no more dancing with arms wound tightly around my waist while warm breath hits the side of my neck. I enjoyed dancing with Lucas earlier but this time was different. Hotter. More seductive. It feels like something is happening here. And . . . I like it. The crowd thins as they move toward the parking areas. “I guess this wraps up day one of the festival.” “One down. One to go.” “I guess I’m gonna head back to Ollie's.” “It's not a good idea for you to drive. The police will be on the lookout for anyone who is driving after drinking. There could be roadblocks.” It's been hours since the home brew tasting. “I'm fine to drive.” “I’d feel much better if you’d agree to leave your car here and use our car service.” My buzz is completely gone. “I'm good. Promise.” “This is my way of looking at it: you'll never look back in ten years and regret letting someone safely drive you to your brother’s but you might look back in ten years and regret that you didn't.” I guess Lucas is right. Caution never hurt anyone. “Okay. You win.” Lucas takes his phone from his pocket. I recognize the swoosh of a text being sent and then the alert of one being received. “Someone will be here in about three minutes.” “That fast, huh?” “Speediness. It's one of the things I paid them for.” I'm not sure what I expected, but this isn't how I pictured parting ways tonight. “Thank you for a wonderful day. I had a really good time.” “I'm glad to hear that.” “Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to entertain me.” I’m sure Lucas had a lot of other things he could have been doing. “It was my pleasure. Thank you for helping me judge the contest.”

“I think I was more of a student than a helper.” A black Suburban comes to a stop at the curb. “This is us.” Us? He’s going to Ollie's with me? He opens my door for me and then closes it before getting into the seat beside me on the other side. “202 Beechum Street.” Is Lucas seeing me home safely because I'm his business partner’s sister? Or is this something else? I'm not sure. I'm not even positive I know what I want it to be. “I haven't been to many beer festivals but I think you’ve done a spectacular job with this one.” “I had very little to do with the planning process so I can't take credit. That belongs to Stout, Porter, and the event planner.” “Regardless, so far I think it's a huge success.” Lucas sighs deeply. “We've been to plenty but this was our first time to host. I didn't realize how much work it would be.” “All worth it, I'm sure.” “Getting Lovibond into Tapped Beer Emporium made it worth all the effort.” He’s still grinning about that one. “Ollie has been after that account forever. He’ll be so excited. Why don’t you call him? I’d love to hear his reaction.” Lucas clears his throat. “He’s supposed to check in with me tomorrow to see how things are going.” “’Bout what time?” “Not sure. Maybe around three.” “I saw you and Porter speaking with lots of people today. By your smiles, it seemed as though you won a few other accounts. Yes?” “At least four other companies, so we’re stoked.” I am so proud of my brother. Who knew this would be where his life would go? “Can I be there when you tell him the good news?” Lucas nods. “I’ll try to make that happen.” The SUV approaches Ollie's apartment and I'm nervous. Lucas could have put me in the back of the Suburban and let me go. But he didn’t. What are his intentions? We’ve spent the better part of the last ten hours together. A large portion of the day was getting to know one another. And I’ve enjoyed every moment, especially the flirting. Lucas may very well be the sexiest man I've ever met. And he’s only become sexier as the day has gone by. Everyone has something that just does it for them. A total turn-on. Mine is a scrumptious beard. And I love his. I wonder what it would feel like against my face. My body. That ticklish spot around my groin. The longer I think about Lucas and how sexy he is, the more I lean toward him, hoping his intentions with me are less than honorable. The SUV comes to a stop and Lucas is out of the car before I can come up with anything clever to say.

I open my door and step out. He stops, hands on hips. “I was coming around to get that for you.” “Sorry. I'm not used to anyone opening my door for me.” I'm self-sufficient. Have been for as long as I can remember. I don't need any man to open my door but I admit I don’t mind chivalry. Unfortunately, that is sometimes difficult to find in a man who considers himself a nonconformist. Equality of the sexes and all. “Are there no gentleman in Savannah?” “I’m sure there are, but I've never dated any of them.” “That’s a shame. Because you deserve to be treated well and with respect.” My father has been telling me nearly the exact same thing since I was twelve. “Baby girl, don’t settle for a man who doesn’t treat you right. You are worthy of someone who will love and respect you. Hold out. He’s searching for you too. Until that time comes, be the strong, independent woman you were intended to be.” I don’t know about some man waiting around for me but I love my parents for teaching me it's okay to be a self-reliant woman. Otherwise, I might have ended up like Christie and married someone like Jimmy. I fish through my bag for the key to Ollie's apartment. “You shouldn't worry. I don't make a habit of allowing men to mistreat me.” The key is in here somewhere. “Question. Ollie’s pickup and motorcycle are parked here. What is he driving?” Lucas coughs and clears his throat again. “The company vehicle.” “Why?” “The truck’s been giving him a little trouble. He didn’t have enough notice about this trip to have it checked. He didn’t think it would be wise to drive it that far without a mechanic having a look.” “I guess not.” That would suck to be stranded hundreds of miles from home. I unlock the door, push it open, and step inside to disarm the alarm. “I can't offer you coffee, tea, or even beer since there is none. But there’s tap water.” I laugh as I recall the ridiculous items stocked in the fridge. “Or maybe a little pickle juice.” “I’m fine. I don't need anything.” I shut the keypad cover. “I have to say I find it really odd that Ollie doesn't at least have beer in the refrigerator.” Wouldn't a beer brewer keep some of his product on hand? It's another thing to add to my list of oddities about Ollie’s behavior. “Most of his time the last few weeks has been spent at the brewery, preparing for the festival. I'm not surprised he hasn't stocked his kitchen. There’s no need when Molly keeps us all fed with her home cooking.” Molly. I think I remember meeting her today. “Short brunette. Forty-ish. Works in the office?” “Yeah, but she's actually fifty-ish. She acts like a mom keeping the three of us in line.” I already like this Molly a lot if she feeds my brother. Lucas is standing in the doorway not making a move to enter. “Would you like to

come in?” His hands go to his hips, and he tilts his head while looking at me. The contact with his eyes makes my body tingle. And I’m pretty sure my temperature just spiked, judging by the heat in my cheeks. He releases a deep breath through pursed lips before pointing over his shoulder. “I wish I could but the driver is waiting.” Okay. He’s not interested. That’s too bad. I was starting to have all kinds of kinky fantasies about him pushing me against the wall and doing very dishonorable things to me. His mouth says one thing but his body says another. He isn’t moving, but his eyes are as they roam my body. What is happening? Is he having one last look before he goes? I don’t want him to leave. I’m contemplating telling him so when he interrupts my plan. “I hope you're still planning to come to the festival tomorrow.” Is it my imagination or has his voice just deepened? “Wouldn't miss it.” Not after all the fun I had today. “Thank you for seeing me to Ollie’s safely.” “You’re very welcome. Call me tomorrow when you're ready to go. I'll pick you up since you’re without your car.” I sort of forgot about that. “Okay. What time are you planning to get there?” “Probably around nine. I have to check on everything before the festival starts at twelve.” I feel like I mooched off Lucas all day. Free beer. Free food. “Is there anything I can do to help tomorrow?” “I’m not going to put you to work.” I would probably be helping out if Ollie were here. “I don't mind.” “We're fully staffed so just come and have fun.” Not a problem. “I can definitely do that.” “Do you still have my number from when Stout used my phone to call you?” “Yeah. I added you to my contacts after he called. I hope that's okay.” Maybe he doesn’t think I’m weird for doing that but I felt I needed to with Ollie acting so peculiar. “Absolutely.” I make a call to his phone and wait for it to ring once. “That's me. Now you have my number too.” “I was just about to ask you for it.” He takes his phone out and begins typing. “Wren Thorn. Adding you to my contacts now.” There's that name again. Is it weird I like to hear him call me that? I should choose a nickname for him too. He’s leaving so do I go for the handshake? The hug? Or what I really want? Dammit. We danced as close as dry-humping teenagers an hour ago. I don’t want to do the goodnight handshake thing. I settle for less than I’d like and go in for the middle ground, a hug, all the time

hoping it’ll lead to more. “I had a great time today, Brou.” “Brou?” “If I get a nickname so do you.” “Brou. I like it. And I had fun today too, Wren.” I position my face so he feels my warm breath against his neck. “I’m glad you talked me into sticking around.” God, he smells good. Woodsy. Masculine. I could stand here sniffing him all night. He moves and the scruff of his beard scrapes the side of my face, detonating a path of goosebumps down my body. Damn. He barely grazed me. My body would probably go into convulsions if he touched me for real. Perhaps it has been that long. “I’m very glad you stayed.” Is he really? Or is he being polite? I can’t tell. We’re approaching that awkward moment where something has to happen. Let go or take it further. What’s it going to be? We simultaneously release one another and step apart. No kiss. And that’s disappointing as hell. I would have enjoyed a goodnight kiss from him. I cross my arms so he doesn’t see my erect nipples through my shirt. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” “I look forward to it.” I watch him from the door for a moment and then close it. I don’t want to watch him walk away. What the fuck just happened? He could have sent the driver on if he wanted to stay. But he didn’t. I gave him the perfect opportunity to kiss me. But he didn’t. I don’t know how I could have been so wrong about Brou. Is it possible I misinterpreted the way we danced? I might say yes, but there’s no way I misread the way he placed his mouth so close to my skin. Unless he’s a huge flirt and had no intention of following through with anything beyond teasing. I know Ollie is busy being someone else’s hero but right now I need him to be mine. Is Lucas dating anyone? No. We spent the day together. I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. I think I like him. Oh? Oh? That’s all I get? Is spending time with Lucas a bad idea?

No. Can you give me something besides a one word response? I guess. Smart ass. I’m sure he enjoyed spending the day with you too. He brought me back to your apt. I wanted him to kiss me. Didn’t happen. Guess he’s not interested. Probably thinks I’m a weirdo like everyone else does. One minute ticks by. Three. Five. No response from my brother. He’s gone back into the land of radio silence. Correspondence was nice while it lasted. “It’s late and I’m tired. I’m not sitting up half the night waiting for you to message me back, Ollie.” Based on his average response time the last couple of weeks, I might hear back from him in three or four days. I go into the guest room and change into my favorite boxers and matching camisole. I’m almost finished brushing my teeth when I hear the doorbell ring. Who the hell is that at this time of night? This isn’t my place so whoever is at the door isn’t here for me. Probably some damn hoochie looking to hook up with Ollie. I seriously consider not answering the door until I hear the bell again. I guess she sees the light on and assumes Ollie is here. She probably isn’t going away. I crack the door with the intention of turning away a strange woman but instead I find Brou standing on the other side. “Hang on a second.” I shut the door and unlatch the chain. “Is something wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong. But I forgot something.” He never made it inside so I can’t imagine how he could have left anything behind. He must mean on a different visit to see Ollie. I open the door wider so he can enter. He shuts it behind him and stops in front of me, eyes roaming my body. Oh, shit. The way he’s looking at me is . . . lustful. “What did you forget?” Sheez. That sounded like a bad impression of a frog croaking. “This.” He steps toward me, so close his chest is pressed against mine. His palms cradle each side of my face when our lips meet. He kisses me close-mouthed at first but every motion brings our lips closer to opening. And then—bam. His wet velvety tongue touches mine and together the two waltz a slow, seductive dance intended only for lovers. He pushes me backward until I’m pressed firmly against the wall. Now, this is one of the fantasies I had in my head earlier. Is he a mind reader?

I’m trapped with nowhere to go, but for some reason, I’m not scared. His grip is different from Xavier’s. Aggressive, but hot. Not unhealthy. His hands leave my face and glide down my sides until they find the bottom of my boxers. Oh, shit. His fingers are creeping up my shorts. They’re touching my butt cheeks. Only my panties prevent him from touching my bare skin. And they’re the same damn cotton panties I wore all day. In the heat. While I was sweating. Fuck. “Ohh.” The sound escapes my mouth in a whisper. Softly. Delicately. But his reaction to hearing it isn’t. His hands grab the backs of my thighs and lift me so my legs wrap around his waist, my back pressed against the wall. Hard. “You are so fucking sexy, Wren.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I squeeze tightly, pulling him closer. If that’s even possible. He pulls away, his lips abandoning mine. I watch him close his eyes and bite his bottom lip before leaning in to press his forehead against mine. “I shouldn’t be doing this.” I liked everything he was doing. “I strongly disagree. So much so I think you should do it again.” He puts my feet back on the floor. I reach for the sides of his face so I can go in for more, but he stops me by grasping my wrists. He shakes his head from side to side. “Don’t.” I’m lost about what is happening. Brou didn’t leave anything at Ollie’s. He had the driver bring him back for me. For this. Maybe more. And now he’s backing out. Did he change his mind about me in literally zero to sixty seconds? Or is it possible Ollie was wrong and Brou is seeing someone? Whatever the reason, he’s rejecting me. I’m desperate to get away from him, but he still has my back pressed against the wall. I can’t escape. I drop my arms and turn my head to the side so I’m no longer looking into those damn eyes the color of blue lapis. I suck in, trying to shrink into the wall. Disappear. Get away. No success. He remains standing so close I can smell the mix of cologne and dried sweat on his skin. He smells the way a man should. So delicious I could lick him. “I don’t want you to misunderstand.” I’m not confused. “Grabbing my wrists was a pretty clear indication you wanted me to stop.” “That’s not what I mean.” He backs away and places his hands on his hips, shaking his head as he sighs loudly. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Those are words of regret. My heart plummets. “You wish you hadn’t kissed me.” “I do but not for the reason you think.” I wasn’t prepared to hear him admit it. That hurts. A lot. “We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

“There’s not even a remote possibility of forgetting that kiss when I look at you.” If looking at me is a problem, it’s one I can easily fix. “Then I’ll leave tomorrow so you don’t have to look at me again.” “You’re misunderstanding me. Exactly what I didn’t want.” He talks in riddles. “Then set me straight. Because I am so confused about what the problem is.” “I regret kissing you because it only makes me want you more. Which isn’t an option; you’re off limits to me.” Off limits? “Says who?” “Stout.” I hold my hands out, palm side up. “News flash. Ollie isn’t here.” “We had a conversation about you a while ago. He told me if you ever came to visit, I wasn’t to touch you. He was very clear regarding his feelings about it.” That pisses me off so badly. I’m apparently the only one of us who believes in the adult sibling respect rule. “My brother doesn’t get a say in who does and doesn’t touch me.” “He does when it comes to me; we’re business partners. If I start something with you and he doesn’t approve, it can throw a serious wrench in my working relationship with him.” “You want to pretend we didn’t connect? That the kiss didn’t happen?” He grasps the top of his hair and pulls. “Ugh. As much as I hate it, I think we have to.” I’m a terrible actress. Always have been. “Then I should probably go home in the morning.” “Don’t go, Wren.” I gloat inside . . . until I remember there’s no point in sticking around if I have to spend the day acting like I’m not attracted to him. “I can do a much better job of pretending this didn’t happen if I’m four hundred miles away.” He takes one step away and his hands go to his hips. He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels as a deep exhale leaves his chest. “I don’t want you to go but you’re right. Distance is probably best.” I’m stiff as a board when I offer my hand. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Broussard.” He takes my hand in his. “Nice? Sure. We can call it that.”

Lucas Broussard

THE DEVIL IS PERCHED ON ONE SHOULDER WHISPERING IN MY EAR. WHAT ARE YOU DOING, STUPID motherfucker? You had her shoved against the wall with your hands in her shorts. And she loved it. You could be between her legs right now if you’d played your cards right. But you didn’t. You took the pussy’s way out. I’m pretty sure Wren was going to let me fuck her. And I walked away. She’ll never know how hard that was for me. I did the right thing. I don’t question that for a moment. So why do I feel so miserable? Shouldn’t I be proud of myself? The devil leans in closer to whisper in my ear again. You’re miserable because you’ll be jacking off tonight instead of fucking a gorgeous blonde. You should turn this car around and go back to her. I would love nothing more than to say fuck it all and go back to Wren. When she’d open the door, I’d throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the bedroom. I’d toss her on the bed and worship her body from head to toe. I’d make her come over and over. I really need to get home so I can take care of myself. I look at my phone and wish like hell she’d text me. Come back. I don’t care what Ollie thinks or says. I want you. There’s not a bit of doubt in my mind. If she reached out to me, I couldn’t resist Lawrence Thorn again if my life depended on it. A familiar ping alerts me to a new text. Where are you? I need you. Shit. There it is. A message from Wren. The very one I was hoping to get. I’m ecstatic until my brain registers that she sent it to Stout’s phone. Not mine. Fuck. I have to respond the way Stout would.

What up sis? I’ve seen Stout call Wren sis and say this exact same thing in some of their older messages. Should be safe. You told Lucas to stay away from me? Why? Dammit. Why’d she have to ask that? That damn little devil is still on my shoulder. She thinks the messages she’s receiving from this phone are from her brother. You can say anything and she’ll believe you. Take advantage. Let her believe she has her brother’s blessing. I’ve been lying to Wren but it’s been nothing of any consequence. This is different. A serious kind of deceit. He’s not for you. It’s killing me to tell her that. But it’s what Stout would say. How would you know? Stout considers me a womanizer. He wouldn’t hesitate to tell his sister about that aspect of my life. But I can’t. I don’t want to paint myself in that light. I know him and how he is. You don’t. And I guess I never will. Thanks a lot Ollie. No. I guess she never will know me or how I am. I’m a little surprised by how that makes me feel. Trust me. It’s no great loss. Sounds like a brotherly thing to say. I think. I really like him. She really likes me? Shit. Now I really want to turn this car around. But seeing the proof of her liking me changes nothing. She’s Stout’s sister. He’s my partner. And she’s still off limits. Don’t be mad.

I am mad. But I still love you. Good night. BTW I’m driving home in a.m. I’ve shared more I love yous with Lawrence Thorn in the last couple of weeks than anyone else in my life. Ever. I thought the words would feel empty. They were intended for someone I didn’t know and from someone other than myself, although I was the one typing them. Oddly, I haven’t grown immune to them at all. I feel a little jab to the heart every time I tell her. And I think there may be a bit of a twist to the jab now that I’ve met her. Good night. Love you too. Oh, shit. Wren doesn’t have her car. She’ll need a ride to pick it up in the morning. I’m the one who convinced her to leave it. Doesn’t that make me responsible for making sure she gets it back? I have to text her. I don’t have a choice. Call me when you’re ready to leave tomorrow. I’ll pick you up and take you to your car. I get to see her one last time before she goes. That doesn’t suck. Thanks but I know how busy you’ll be with the festival. I can call a cab. Probably easier that way anyway. What’s easier? Alleviating the need for me to pick her up and take her to her car or her leaving without seeing me? Please. I want to see you again. I have never uttered, nor texted, those words to a woman. Ever. A minute passes. And another. She must be thinking hard about her reply. I’m planning to leave early. I don’t want to inconvenience you. Early isn’t a problem. Ok. Those two letters make me extremely happy. See you then.

The driver lets me out of the Suburban at the entrance to the festival. Plastic cups and napkins litter the grounds. Do people not know what a trashcan is for? I find Porter and the Lovibond gang at our booth straightening the disarray. “Wow. This is a damn mess.” “You missed the last-call rush. It was fucking crazy. Where’d you disappear to?” “I had to take Lawrence to Stout’s apartment.” Porter stops and stares at me. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. We’re all here working, and you’re off trying to get a piece of ass from our business partner’s sister?” I want to punch Porter in the face for talking that way about Wren. He isn’t far off from the truth, but it’s not an announcement for him to make in front of our staff. “Can I see you privately?’ Porter tosses the towel in his hand on the table. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” I walk until I’m certain we’re out of earshot. “What the hell was that all about?” “You’ve been with Lawrence all day.” “I fulfilled all my job duties. Every aspect. I landed four new accounts today. I'm set to get more tomorrow. I made rounds on every guest brewery. I judged the home brew competition and did a damn good job of picking the best according to you. Name one way I failed Lovibond.” He doesn’t have an answer for that. “What has crawled up your ass?” “Stout won't like what you're doing with his sister.” And it doesn’t look like Porter does either. “I’m not doing anything with Lawrence except watching over her and making her feel welcome. That's it.” “Be sure to keep it that way because none of us can afford a fallout over her. Not me. Not you. Not Stout. Or any of those people who work their asses off for us at the brewery.” “Stout and I have already had the Lawrence conversation.” I don’t owe Porter an explanation but there it is anyway. Maybe it’ll get him off my back. “Good. You know where he stands, so get your ass over here and help us clean up so we can go home, sleep fast, and do this again tomorrow.”

IT WAS TWO IN THE MORNING WHEN I FINALLY ROLLED INTO BED. SLEEP DIDN’T FIND ME EASILY. BUT visions of Wren in that camisole with no bra did. I wanted to touch her tits so badly. Rub my thumbs over her hard nipples

pushing against the fabric of her top. I went for her sweet round ass with the intention of moving on to those perky tits next. Didn’t happen. I grew a hard-on and then a fucking conscience. Bad combination. I bet I barely got three hours of sleep last night, but I’m still up and ready for her call at any time. I’m on my second cup of coffee when she texts. I’m ready. Be there in ten. Ok. Wren opens the door and I’m blown away by how beautiful she is. Not because she’s dressed in something elaborate and wearing a ton of makeup. Total opposite. She’s barefaced with a single braid down the middle of her back. Natural beauty. I hold up the bag of coffee and box of tea I picked up on the way over. “Both organic. Think you have time for a cup before you have to go?” Or two cups? Maybe three? I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give. “I think I can stick around long enough to have one.” I follow her into the kitchen and she holds up both. “Which would you prefer?” I don’t care. Whichever will last longer. “Whatever you’re having is fine with me.” She opens the box of chai tea and takes out two bags. “What time did you make it in last night?” “Two.” “Good grief. What time did you get up?” “Six.” I sit at the dining table and watch Wren flutter around the kitchen. She’s like a graceful butterfly. “Ouch. Four hours of sleep?” I wish. “More like two. Maybe three.” “Why so little?” “I was wound pretty tight last night.” As was my hand as I fantasized about what was beneath that little cami you were wearing. “You must have been after making sure the festival went off without a hitch.” No. That wasn’t the reason at all. You were. “Day one of operation beer fest was a success. Hopefully today goes as well.” “I’m sure it will. I know Ollie must be bummed he’s missing it.” “He has to be.” But, no worries. I’m letting his ass take over the next festival. “Do you take milk and sugar in your tea?” Wren goes to the refrigerator but promptly shuts it. “Forgot. No milk. Sugar only then?” “I’ll take mine however you do.”

She puts a spoonful of white granules in one cup and stirs. “You don’t drink tea, do you?” “Not this kind.” Wren looks at me and huffs. I think she does that often. “I would have been happy to make you coffee.” Another dose of caffeine could do me in. “It’s only seven thirty and I’ve had two cups. I didn’t need a third.” “Okay, but if you don’t like it, I’m making you a pot of coffee.” “Deal.” We migrate to the living room with her leading the way. She takes a seat on one end of the couch so I choose the opposite. I don’t want to be in the chair across from her. It’s too far away. She dips her teabag up and down by the string so I mimic her. “I feel so dainty.” “Well, I must admit it’s a little entertaining to watch a manly, bearded man dip that teabag like that.” Hmm . . . she’s thought about me enough to come to the conclusion I’m manly. Interesting. She continues dunking so I do too. “You don’t consider chai tea a man drink?” She watches me for a moment. “I’ve never given it much thought, but after seeing you do that I’ve come to the conclusion it isn’t.” Wren uses her spoon to press the bag so I follow her cue. And tilt the damn cup over so far a huge portion of my tea spills in my lap. I set my cup of hot-ass liquid on the coffee table and spring up from the couch to tug the fabric away from my skin. “Oh, motherfucker, that is hot.” Wren leaps up from the couch and sprints into the kitchen, quickly returning with a towel in hand. “I’m so sorry.” “I’m the one who should be sorry. I made the damn mess.” I take the towel from her and wipe the crotch of my jeans. “I think we can agree I don’t have enough grace to be a tea drinker.” “I concur.” The hot tea on my crotch turns cold quickly. “Do you mind if I grab a pair of Stout’s pants so I can put my jeans in the dryer for a few minutes? I don’t think it’ll take long for them to dry.” “Sure. I’ll grab some for you.” Wren returns a moment later holding elastic-waisted pants. “These okay?” “That works. Thanks.” I go into the bathroom to strip out of my jeans and find my boxer briefs took a nice hit as well. Shit. Those have to go into the dryer too. I come out of the bathroom free-balling beneath thin white linen pants. Real thin. Wren holds out her hand. “I’ll put those in the dryer for you.” “I can do it.” She holds out her hands. “I don’t mind.” I guess I don’t have a choice. She’s going to handle my skivvies. “Thanks.”

She comes back to the living room wearing a grin. “You doused yourself pretty good.” “Allow me to tell you a little something about me. I don’t do anything halfway. I go all the way.” Wren giggles as she plants herself on the opposite end of the couch from me a second time. “I believe I’ve heard that line used before.” “Yeah. I may have stolen it from a pretty girl I drank beer with once.” Wren takes a sip of her tea. Much more graceful than me. “Sounds like a fun girl.” “I enjoy her company very much. And she’s banging.” She giggles some more and nearly spills her tea. “Banging, huh?” “Oh yeah. And she’s a great kisser.” “How many times have you kissed this girl?” Wren’s brow is wrinkled. I think she’s second-guessing if I’m talking about her. “Only once. But it was amazing.” Truly. “Why only once?” “Because I was an idiot. I said things I didn’t mean, and now I’m afraid I may have messed up with her.” Wren scoots forward to place her cup of tea on the coffee table. “Maybe you should try kissing her again so you can see what happens. She could be waiting for you to steal her breath.” I slide across the middle cushion of the couch so I’m closer. When I reach her, I rub my thumb over her bottom lip. “You think this beautiful girl would let me take her breath away?” I hear her breath moving coarsely in and out of her chest. “I think you already are.” She needs to know where I stand. “If I start, I won’t stop this time.” Wren licks her lips and rubs them together. “Don’t make promises you don’t plan to keep.” I lean in and suck her bottom lip. I’ve wanted to do it since I watched that dribble of beer fall from the corner of her mouth last night. I taste a patch of sweetness leftover from her tea. This kind of chai tea, I like. “So sweet.” I move my mouth over hers and our tongues fall into a rhythmic wave. It’s a seductive swirl of soft, wet velvet. My God. I don’t know how I had the strength to pull away from her last night. In this moment, I’m powerless to stop. The rhythm of our kiss is no longer slow and smooth. It’s erratic. Demanding. Unforgiving. Wren pulls away from me, panting. “Breath successfully stolen.” “I’m not done yet.” I drag my mouth along her jawline toward her ear, leaving kisses in its path. Wren squirms when I kiss the sensitive spot below her earlobe. “Oh, that gives me chills all over.”

I love physical reactions beyond a woman’s control. Such a turn-on; those can’t be faked. I move my mouth down her neck and kiss her shoulder. She’s such a squirmer. She’s nearly worked her way beneath me. Did she mean to do that? I want to go further but I don’t know where her head is. “Do you want me to stop?” “No.” She places her hands on each side of my face and drags her fingers through my beard. “Keep going.” She doesn’t tell me the lines I can’t cross, yet I suspect she has some in place. Every woman does. “I need you to tell me what we’re doing, Wren.” “You’re taking my breath away . . . in whatever form that may present itself.” I think she’s giving me free rein. Maybe. “Tell me to stop at anytime and I will.” “You promised you wouldn’t stop this time.” Holy. Shit. “I did, didn’t I?” She laces her fingers through the back of my hair and pulls me down. “I can pretend last night’s kiss didn’t happen. And I can also pretend a morning fuck before I leave didn’t happen either.” Wren just confirmed everything I need to know. She’s giving herself to me. I grasp the back of her thighs and pull her all the way beneath me on the couch. “Any boundaries I can’t cross?” “None.” Ah . . . the beauty of fucking a bohemian. They don’t have rules. “I like that a lot.” “It’s been a while. Despite what most people believe about people like me, I don’t make a habit of freely giving my body away.” Something else I like. I’m glad she doesn’t go around sleeping with just anyone. Maybe that’s sexist but I proudly own my feelings regarding it. Wren is unlike any woman I’ve ever met. And certainly not like the ones I’m usually with. This is going to be good. Damn good. “How long has it been?” “More than a year.” Shit. That’s a long time. It’s added pressure to make this spectacular for her. “You look shocked. Or scared. I can’t decide which.” “It’s a little surprising.” “I told you I didn’t need a man to feel complete. I meant that.” I’m going to make her come so hard she’s going to know what she’s been missing. I stroke the back of my hand down her cheek. Soft. Smooth. Delicate. “You’re beautiful, Wren.” Most of the women I’ve been with are too skinny, and they hide behind masks of cosmetics. But not Wren. She’s an all-natural woman. She’s very different from Bridgette, yet alike in many ways. Both make me laugh. Both put me at ease. Both are so genuine.

I rub her hip and there’s actually something there to grab instead of skincovered bone. Skinny isn’t attractive to me. I like curves and shape. Wren is everything I like in a woman. She strokes my face again, running the tips of her fingers through my facial hair. “I love this, Brou. It’s my idea of manly beauty.” I’m used to being called Boudreaux. But I can get used to Brou if it’s coming from her. “Manly beauty.” This is the second time she’s made a reference about me being manly. Makes me wonder if she’s ever been with a man she considers masculine. Well, I’m going to show her how much of a man I am. And not just once. I lower myself until I’m hovering over her. I press my lips to the side of her neck as I grasp the back of her thigh and bend it at the knee. That’s it, baby. Wrap it around me. I glide my hand up the back of her smooth leg until it’s inside her shorts. And panties. Same song from last night. Second verse. But it’s palm against bare ass this time. I wonder what she’d do if my fingers left the safety of her ass cheek and moved to that sensitive place between her legs. Let’s find out. It’s been a long time for Wren. I don’t want to rush this so I move slowly, gliding my hand up to her waist before moving it lower. She jolts when I touch her groin. “Sorry. I’m terribly ticklish there.” Duly noted. I’ll use that to my advantage later. I move my hand away from the bend of her leg closer to her center. “What about that? Better?” “Yes.” The single word comes out in a soft whisper. Time to take her breath away, as promised. She pants as the tips of my fingers stroke her through the wet crotch of her panties. I’ve barely touched her and she’s drenched. Physical proof of her arousal and desire for me. Fucking beautiful. I push her panties aside and drag my finger up her wet center. She jolts when I graze her clit. Given it’s been a long time, she’ll be more sensitive than ever. That’s going to make this even hotter. I take my hand out of her panties and suck her slick moisture from my fingers. “Mmm . . . you are delicious. I can’t wait to taste you fully.” She reaches up and rubs my bottom lip. “You have a dirty mouth.” “I have a greedy mouth. Lucky you.” I return my hand to its former place. There it is. The hot spot. “I want to make you come like this first. Because I want to see your face. Then we’ll move on to the other many ways.” She slides her hand into the elastic-waisted pants and wraps her hand around my cock. Her fist moves up and down, stroking me from balls to tip. “I want the pleasure of watching your face when you come.” I see now Wren isn’t a greedy lover. She gives as good as she gets. “I support that idea one hundred percent.” I glide my fingers up and down her center, slow at first, but increasing as her

breath becomes faster. Her moving fist mimics my rhythm exactly. Perfect synchronization. Until I change maneuvers. You’re gonna love this, baby. I press the tips of my fingers to the top of her slit, applying pressure to her clit, and move them from side to side. She’s slick so they glide back and forth with ease. That’s it, Wren. Move your hips. Ride my hand. Can’t say I’m not pretty much doing the same. I’m thrusting my cock pretty hard into her hand. “Damn, I’m already close.” “Me too. Almost there.” I move my fingers faster because I want her to catch me. And I know she has when she arches her back and stiffens. “Ohh . . . ohh . . . ohh.” I love the sound of those three words. But it’s not her screaming my name so my job isn’t done yet. I move my hand faster. Harder. Quick jerks from side to side. I want her to know no one has ever made her come so hard. “Ohh. Brou.” She’s using her name for me. I love that. I don’t know what it is about hearing a woman scream your name when she comes but nothing is a bigger turn-on. Even better when it’s the special one she’s chosen for you. “Say my name again. Louder.” She grips my bicep hard with her free hand and moves the other up and down my cock faster. “Brou.” “Say it louder, and I’ll take you over the edge.” “Brou!” Good girl. That’s what I’ve wanted to hear from her. She goes stiff, except for the involuntary jerks of her body as she convulses with pleasure. Very much the same reaction I’m having as I shoot off in her hand. The only sound in the room is panting and moaning. Proof of satisfaction. “You took my breath away.” Breathless, and I haven’t even gotten inside her yet. But you wouldn’t know that by the twinkle in her eyes and smile on her face. It’s fucking hot to know I did that to her with my fingers. I can’t wait to see what happens when I get my dick inside her. “As promised.” I can’t remember a time I’ve been so vested in making sure a woman comes as hard as me. No . . . harder. Wren in her sliced and diced Lovibond shirt yesterday was beautiful. Wren in her skimpy cami and shorts last night was sexy. But Wren post orgasm, wearing a smile so tender and sated, is stunning. Magnificent. She makes me breathless. And . . . hard again already. I take my hand out of her panties and frame her head with my arms as I support my weight on my forearms against the couch. Loose strands of hair have escaped her braid so I work to smooth them back in place. “I’m afraid your hair is going to need a little work.” She pulls the band from the end and lifts her hair, shaking it until if flows freely. “Better?” “Gorgeous.” We aren’t done yet. Not even close. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.” I want Wren naked and in bed beneath me. These clothes—especially the wet pants—and

couch aren’t working for me. I need to be unrestrained for everything I want to do to her. “Are you okay with that?” She nods. “Very okay.” I get up from the couch and take her hands, helping her to her feet. We’re eye to eye. So close I can’t stop myself from cradling her face and planting a slow, deep kiss against her mouth. I don’t know what this is I’m doing with Wren. She’s Stout’s sister. Forbidden fruit. He told me so. I said I wouldn’t touch her but I did anyway. My promise became a lie—another fucking lie. Deceit has never been in my nature but I couldn’t help myself. And now I don’t want to stop. Wren jolts, and I do too, when we hear sounds at the front door. “Someone’s here.” Well, fuck. We break apart like guilty teenagers caught doing dirty things. At least five feet of distance separates us. Maybe six. Too much. It’s probably Porter coming by to issue a cockblock. He was pretty pissed off about the time I spent with Wren yesterday. I wouldn’t put it past him. Bastard. I only have a few seconds to mentally prepare for whatever he is going to say. Porter, she’s going home. I told you I was picking her up and taking her to her car this morning. Remember? My mental preparation is all in vain when I see who opens the door. What the hell is he doing here? “Ollie,” Wren yells as she runs to him and throws herself into his arms, “I’m so happy you’re back.” He looks at me with wide eyes over Wren’s shoulder and mouths, “What?” I’ve had no communication with Stout in a week. He had no idea his sister was here. He’s completely in the dark concerning what I’ve told her about his alibi. This could mean trouble for him. And me. I don’t think Wren is the kind of woman who tolerates lies. “Look at you. Back from Memphis so soon?” He looks like a deer in headlights. “Yes, but only briefly.” “I guess your friend must be doing better? No longer threatening to do anything stupid after the divorce?” Stout clears his voice. “He’s stable, but I’m going back. I just drove down so I could be at the festival for a little while today.” Shit. I guess he took a cab from the rehab. I hope she doesn’t decide to ask questions or snoop in regards to the company car, which doesn't exist. “We’re glad to see you. Especially Lawrence. She was pretty disappointed when she showed up Friday to surprise you but found out you’d left town to see Raleigh.” I think I’ve given him a basic rundown of what Wren believes is happening. She hugs Stout one-armed, holding the one she used to jerk me off behind her back. “You are such a good friend to give up being at the festival for your friend’s welfare.” Fuck. The scent of her juices is on my hand. Maybe even my mouth since I licked

my fingers after touching her. It’s all I can smell. Or does the room smell like sex? I can’t tell. “Are those my pants?” Fuck. Wren spins around. “Lucas spilled tea on his so I gave him those to wear while his jeans are in your dryer. I hope that’s okay.” “I guess.” Wren cues me with her hands to cover my crotch. Shit. I register the enormous wet spot beneath my hands when I touch it. Fuck, hope Stout didn’t notice. He’s not stupid. Whether he knows it or not, he doesn’t want these pants back. Stout has two duffle bags on his shoulder. “You have dirty clothes in those?” Wren asks. “Yeah. A lot.” “Why so much?” He looks at me and then back to Lawrence. Sorry. Can’t help you with that one, dude. “I just threw a bunch of shit in there. Some clean, some dirty. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be gone.” “Ugh, Ollie. You’re such a guy. The dirty is going to make the clean stink. All of it will need washing now.” She holds out her hands. “Here. Pass those to me and I’ll get a load started for you.” Stout kisses the side of Wren’s face. Right where I just kissed her but in a much different manner. “Thanks, sis.” I sit on the couch and try to remember all the things I need to tell him. Already covered his alibi. Now I need to cover mine. And check the couch for wet spots. Fuck. Is it just me or does it smell like sex even more over here? Stout is going to rip me a new one if he figures out what I’ve done. He stands over me, hands on hips. “What the hell has gone on here while I’ve been away?” I lower my voice. “She showed up at the festival yesterday. Said she was here to surprise you. I came up with a bullshit story about a suicidal friend in Memphis.” Not my best work. “That’s dumb as hell.” “Forgive the fuck out of me. I had maybe three seconds, at best, to come up with something to cover your ass.” “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. I’m just sort of freaking out. I wasn’t expecting this.” Just like I wasn’t expecting him to walk in at the exact moment I’m on the way to his guest room to fuck his sister. “It’s okay.” “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment with her?” I bet his mind is spinning like a damn hamster in a wheel right now. “She was planning to go back to Savannah this morning. That’s why I’m here. To take her to her car.” Half-truth. I came to drive her but not before I fucked her. “Where’s her car?”

“Still parked at the festival. Had the service drive her home as she’d had several beers.” We don’t need two DUIs in the Thorn family. “Lawrence never has more than a few beers.” “She did last night.” I might as well tell him now. “She helped me judge the home brew comp. She got a little tipsy but don’t worry. I took care of her.” He narrows his eyes at me. “In what way?” “I saw her home safely.” Stout’s eyes grow large and his mouth forms a tight line. I know what he’s thinking. “I did not fuck your sister. I swear.” But I was damn sure about to when you came home just now. “Give me my phone.” He’s going to see last night’s texts. That means I’m going to have some explaining to do. “What is this shit about her wanting you to kiss her?” “I guess she likes me.” And I know I like her. But I can’t let him know that. Fuck do I need to get out of these wet pants . . . and away from the scent of sex. “Yeah. She likes you all right. She says so right here in this message.” I didn’t take advantage of my position. I ignored that devil sitting on my shoulder whispering in my ear. “You can see how I responded. I told her I wasn’t for her because she didn’t know how I was. And not knowing me would be no great loss. I figured that’s what you’d say since you don’t think I’m good enough for your sister.” “It’s not about being good enough, Tap. You’ve screwed over a lot of women. I don’t want my sister to become the latest addition to that very long list.” Stout has a severe case of the pot calling the kettle black. “You act like I’m such a dickhead, and you never fuck around with women.” “This has nothing to do with me. We’re talking about my sister and what you’re not going to do with her.” “I would never mistreat Lawrence.” I wouldn’t. I mean that. “Maybe you wouldn’t as long as she met your needs. But what about when you no longer want her for a piece of ass?” “That’s not true. But even if it were, she lives four hundred miles away. This whole argument is bullshit.” I’m tired of defending myself to Stout. “Why are you here? I thought you had two more weeks to go.” “I do. Got a day pass because I’ve been doing so well with my recovery. Which isn’t hard given I’m not an alcoholic. It’s a great program for people with addictions, but it’s not really set up for someone like me. Anyway, I have to return by five, which really sucks. Wish I had longer since Lawry is here. I haven’t seen her in six months.” No way she’s leaving this morning now. And I’m not sad about that. “I’m gonna take off so you can have some brother-sister time.” “Sorry I was such a hard ass about Lawrence.” “I know you love her and only want the best for her.” I gesture toward the laundry room. “I’m just gonna grab my jeans out of the dryer before I go.”

Wren is shoving clothes into the washer when I sneak up behind her. I wrap my arms around her and kiss the side of her neck. “Hey. I’m gonna go so you can spend time with Stout before he leaves again.” She turns in my arms and kisses my chest. “Will I see you later?” “I certainly hope so.” I gesture to the jeans folded on top of the dryer. “Mine?” “Yeah.” I push the waistband of the linen pants down and step out of them. “Can these go in with that load?” She bites her bottom lip to unsuccessfully suppress her mischievous grin. “Throw ’em in.” I pull on my boxer briefs and then my jeans, Wren’s eyes watching my every move. She is checking out my junk with no shame. “Text me if we don’t catch up at the festival by the time Stout gets ready to leave.” I’d love to make plans to meet up after he’s left. “I will.” I hold her face and kiss her breathless. Again. I stop when I hear Stout rambling in the kitchen on the other side of the wall. Can’t risk being caught. “See you later, Wren.”

Lawrence Thorn

HOLY SHIT. I CAN’T BELIEVE OLLIE WALKED IN ON BROU AND ME AS WE WERE GOING TO THE BEDROOM. Damn, that was a close one. I don’t care what Ollie says about me being with Brou. My brother doesn’t get a say about who I’m with. But at the same time, I don’t want Brou to encounter a problem at work because of me. I flop on the couch next to Ollie. He puts his arm around me and squeezes. “To what do I owe this surprise visit?” “You were right when you said it had been too long since I’d been to see you. I thought it was time. And I wanted it to be a surprise so I could check up on you. You’ve been weird lately, but the last two weeks have been the topping on the proverbial weird cake.” “Weird, huh?” He laughs. “Yeah. It doesn’t feel like you on the other end answering me.” “I’m sorry about that. Things have been a little crazy lately. Let me get through the next couple of weeks, and I promise everything will be back to normal again.” “Good. ’Cause I miss my little brother. I want to get together more often. Six months is too long to go without seeing each other.” And maybe Brou will become an additional incentive to get me back in Birmingham more frequently. “Yes, it is.” I’m not sure now is the right time to bring this up but I feel I don’t have a choice. “Christie called me.” “What does she want now? More money?” I wish. It would be much simpler to part with money over what she’s asking of us. Ollie slams his fist into the couch cushion. “Dammit. I knew we shouldn’t have given her any. It only encourages her to keep coming back for more, which means we’ll never be rid of her.” “It wasn’t about money this time. She’s in end-stage renal disease.” “Well boo-fucking-hoo. She did that shit to herself, so she’s getting what she deserves if you ask me.” True. She was an addict and noncompliant diabetic. She wanted heroine more than insulin. Her kidneys couldn’t handle all those years of

abuse and unstable blood sugars. It’s a miracle she’s still alive. “I assume she called because she wants us to help her out somehow. Medical bills?” He’s going to go apeshit when I tell him. “She wants a kidney.” “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’m not giving her my kidney.” He makes it sound like he won’t have one left. “You have two, Ollie.” “I know and I’m keeping both of them. So are you. End of story.” I wish she hadn’t contacted me. I should have changed my number after that last round of begging for money. Hearing from her has brought up so much from the past. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her and our childhood since she asked.” “Don’t think about that shit, Lawry. No good can come from it.” “Do you remember the time I wrapped a hamburger in a napkin and brought it home from school for you?” I traded my piece of chocolate cake for it because I knew it would be more filling and nutritious for Ollie’s little malnourished body. “Yeah, and I also remember her putting me in the corner and making me watch her eat it while she was coming down from a high. I was so hungry my stomach was gnawing my backbone.” That was only one of the many cruelties she inflicted on us. “I think about that stuff a lot.” “Keep thinking about it. Remember the kind of person she is. That should help you make the right decision.” I don’t want to talk about her anymore. “I’ve done my duty by telling you about Christie so enough of that.” What he does with the information is his decision. “Tell me what’s been going on in your life.” “I’ve met someone I’m interested in.” Ollie’s beaming. “That’s so good to hear.” A new relationship will help him move on from Eden. “Tell me about her.” “Her name is Madison. She’s an addiction and substance abuse counselor.” “Exciting. Have you asked her out?” “Not yet. The timing is off but I’m going to soon. Maybe in a couple of weeks.” “Don’t worry. She’ll say yes when you do. She’d be crazy to not jump at the chance.” I may be biased but Ollie really is a catch. All my friends think so and tell me often. “I hope so. I think I really like this woman.” He does judging by the goofy grin on his face. “Tell me what you like about her.” “She isn’t afraid to challenge me.” “I bet she likes to talk a lot.” I would imagine a counselor would want to discuss everything. That could get exhausting after a while. Sometimes I just want to be quiet and enjoy silence. “Yeah, but I don’t mind. I like the things she has to say.” “I would love to meet her.” I’d like to see for myself she isn’t like Eden. I knew

that one was a bitch the moment I met her. “Let me ask her out first and see where things go.” “That’s probably a good idea.” “How do you feel about going back to the festival today?” I know Ollie is anxious to see how things are going. “I’d love to. I had a great time yesterday.” Thanks to Brou. I leave off that part. I don’t want to cue Ollie to our friendship. “I need to change first.” “I think I will too.” The outfit I’m wearing is for travel. And now it looks like I’m sticking around a while longer. And I definitely have to get out of these wet panties. Ick. “Can I use your cell to call a car?” “Why don’t we just take the company car?” “What do you mean?” “Lucas told me you drove the company vehicle to Memphis because the pickup needed to be seen by a mechanic.” “Um, yeah. But I’d rather not drive in case we have drinks.” “Did you leave your phone in the car?” “My phone?” “Yeah, you wanted mine to call the car service." "Oh, yes. It's in the car." Ollie looks a little lost. I guess he's driven from Memphis to Birmingham this morning. It's eight now, so he must have left around four. That's enough to tire anyone. I toss him my phone. “Give me five minutes before you call.” I decide on colorful printed pants and my peacock colored cropped Lovibond T. It’s going to be another hot one so I opt for a topknot instead of wearing my hair down. “You look like a damn hippie.” Mission accomplished. I slip my brown and gold sunglasses into my hair. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment.” “What kind of pants are those?” I do a turn to model them. “They’re called harem pants.” “You do know what a harem is, don’t you?” “Shut up and let’s go. The driver is waiting.” We arrive at the festival and the scene is very different than the one I walked into yesterday. “No one’s here.” “It’s still early. It doesn’t start for a few hours, but I expect a smaller turnout today since it’s Sunday.” “There was a huge crowd yesterday. The boys hated you missed it, especially after how hard you’d worked to prepare the event.” He would have been so proud. “They didn’t hate it more than I did.” “Well, you’re here now.” “Sounds like you spent the better part of the day with Tap.”

Is he picking my brain to see what I’ll say? “He mostly babysat me.” “You told me you liked him in your text. And wanted him to kiss you. That’s not a good idea.” Too late, Ollie. “I’d had a few drinks when I sent those texts. Oops. Party foul.” “Sure that’s all it is?” I gotta throw him off our trail. “Absolutely. He showed me kindness, and I took it for more than it was. I’m straight about everything now.” “Tap is a good friend, but he doesn’t always treat women well. I’m looking out for you by discouraging a relationship with him.” “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” I don’t really want to keep hearing about Brou and other women. “You’ll find that someone special one day.” I’m tired of hearing that too. “I’m okay with me, myself, and I for now. Believe it or not, we do okay together.” “You’re my sister and I love you. I want you to have that happily ever after every woman wants.” He’s my brother so I’m sure he hasn’t considered the possibility of me being okay with a quick fuck with Brou. And I can’t tell him that. Brou, Porter, and the Lovibond gang are already at the booth when we arrive. “Damn. This looks great, guys. The graphics are perfect. Exactly what I had in mind.” The boys are talking shop, and it’s a beautiful Sunday morning, so I take the opportunity to walk the grounds. I find an empty bench beneath a tree and decide to people watch. I love doing that. You can figure out so much by seeing what people do when they think no one is paying attention. A woman speaking sweetly to the dog she’s walking. Animal lover. She has a kind heart. A man jogging shirtless. He thinks he’s hot shit. And he sort of is. A mother pushing a crying baby in a stroller. She’s looking at her phone, not her wailing child. Doesn’t even give the kid a glance. Probably neglectful. A good-looking man with a succulent beard sitting on a park bench watching my every move. Looks interested in me. My phone alerts me to a new text. People watching again? Yup. I’m dying to touch you again. I wasn’t even close to being finished with you. My insides do a backflip. I glance at Brou on the bench, looking at his phone. He’s purposely ignoring me now. Pretending I’m not sitting a bench away. Doesn’t want to alert the guard.

No chance of that until Ollie’s gone. He’s on high alert. I suspected. Slam me much? He may have reinforced his warning where you’re concerned. Sounds about right. Hope he wasn’t too convincing. Not even for a second. I can’t wait for you to touch me again. They’re calling for me. I have to go b/c I’m speaking in fifteen minutes. TTYL. Ok. My eyes follow Brou as he leaves the bench and walks away. Sheez. His ass looks great in those jeans. And it looks pretty great not in those jeans too. I can’t believe I had my hand wrapped around his cock. I can’t believe he came in my hand. I can’t believe he stood in front of me naked from the waist down. I can’t believe he touched me with his fingers between my legs and then sucked them. Fuck. That was hot. No one has ever made me come so hard in all my life. Brou gives quality orgasms. I can’t wait to have another.

I SPEND THE DAY MOSTLY HANGING WITH OLLIE WATCHING HIM DO HIS THING. HE’S GOOD AT WHAT HE does. I’m proud of my little brother for achieving his dreams. “It’s time for me to go.” It seems like Ollie just got here. “Sure you can’t stay the night and go back tomorrow?” “Wish I could. I’d love to spend more time together. Maybe I can make it over to Savannah in a few weeks.” Or maybe I can come back to Birmingham. “I’d love that.” “Do you want to hang out here or go back to my apartment?”

“This has been fun but I’m just about festivaled out after two days of it.” “Okay. I’m gonna tell everyone we’re leaving.” “I need to say goodbye to everyone since I won’t be seeing them again before I go.” I go down the line telling the Lovibond gang how lovely it was to meet or see them again. I save Brou for last. He doesn’t get a hug like everyone else. Only a handshake. “It was nice meeting you, Lucas.” “And you, Lawrence.” The show between us is almost comical. I wonder if everyone believes our act or do they see straight through the façade? My car is blistering hot after sitting in the hot sun for two days. I lower the windows, crank the air up, and position the vents so they’re hitting me in the face. I’ll definitely need a shower before Brou comes over so I don’t smell like sweaty ass. Still want to see me tonight? More than you know. What time? It’s over at 8:00 but there’s clean up, etc. Hope to be out by 9:00. 10:00 at the latest. Looking forward to it. I’ll be waiting.

OLLIE IS PACKED AND READY TO GO. “I’M GOING TO MISS YOU, LITTLE BROTHER.” “Not for long. Time will fly, and I’ll be in Savannah before you know it.” “I look forward to it. And Mom and Dad will be so happy to have you home.” I hug him one last time. “Hope Raleigh is okay.” “Me too. It’s been . . . rough.” He can’t look at me when he talks about Raleigh. I hope it doesn’t remind him of Eden. “Drive safe when you leave.” “I’ll be well rested for the drive.” Or with any luck, I won’t be. “I’ll turn the music up and lay the hammer down.” Ollie leaves and I immediately prepare for my upcoming rendezvous. Nine o’clock comes. And goes. Ten is approaching so I know Brou will be here soon. I’m

simultaneously anxious and nervous. God, it’s been so long since I’ve had sex. But everything was falling right into place this morning before we had to stop. I’m showered, shaved, and sitting on the couch fantasizing about all the things Brou is going to do to me when a knock interrupts my thoughts. “Coming.” Yes. I should be doing that very soon. I open the door and find a damp-haired Brou on the other side. Oh, fuck, he’s sexy. “Someone just showered.” Explains why it’s after ten and he’s just now arriving. I open the door wide so he can enter. “Sorry I’m late but it would have been unpleasant for me to show up as I was.” The door shuts, and he pulls me into his arms. His mouth goes straight for my neck. Okay. He’s right out of the gate and going straight for it. I had hoped for a little foreplay but I guess this works too. “Mmm . . . lavender and vanilla. I love the way you smell.” I was wrong. He isn’t skipping foreplay. He’s sniffing me. “Thank you. I’m pretty fond of the way you smell too.” “I was wondering how you’d feel about coming over to my place instead of staying here?” I hadn’t given it any thought but the idea makes sense. And I get to see where and how Brou lives. Is he a neat freak? A slob? “I would love that.” “Do you need a minute to pack your things?” “I’m mostly packed already. Won’t take me but a minute to grab what isn’t.” I take a step toward the guest room, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me into his arms. “I can’t wait. I need to do this first.” His hands are on my lower back pulling me against him. His mouth possesses mine with eager lips and tongue. Mmm . . . tastes like mint. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.” I know the feeling. “I could hardly work for thinking about you. And tonight.” His hands are all over me. Touching. Squeezing. Rubbing. “I’m not sure we’re going to make it to your house if we keep on like this.” He grasps my ass and hauls me against him. Warm breath hits my skin when he growls against my neck, “Go. Hurry. I need you and I don’t want to have to wait a minute longer than necessary.” I sprint up the stairs. Makeup. Hair dryer. Clothing. It all goes into my bag without any regard for organization. No time for that. I barrel down the stairs. “Ready.” “Want to take your car or ride with me?” It seems silly to not drive mine. “I’ll take my car so you don’t have to bring me back in the morning.” “You sound confident you’ll be leaving early.” And he sounds confident I won’t. “It’s a six-hour drive so that’s the plan.” “You may find you have the need to sleep in.” “Tomorrow’s Monday. Won’t you have to go to work in the morning?”

“Off all day because of the long weekend at the festival. That means you can stay as long as you like.” I really need to get back to check in with Wynter. “We’ll see.”

WE ENTER BROU’S HOUSE THROUGH THE GARAGE AND I QUICKLY LEARN SOMETHING ABOUT HIM. HE’S NO slob. Everything I see is organized and in its place. “You’re neat.” “Is there any other way to be?” “Yes, according to some people.” He didn’t see Ollie’s apartment before I cleaned it. Damn disaster. “But not you?” “No. I like things neat and orderly which is completely out of character for someone like me.” Free spirits typically don’t become disturbed by something as trivial as disorganization. But I’m twitchy right now because my bag is a disaster. He pats my bag. “Have a seat and I’ll put this in my bedroom.” I’m glad the thing is zipped so he doesn’t see the mess inside. I don’t sit. Instead, I circle the living room. Wood-plank flooring. Brown leather sofa. Rich-caramel walls. Brou’s living room is warm and masculine. I don’t see a woman’s touch anywhere. Except the frames holding Ava’s pictures. I’m guessing Bridgette makes a habit of giving him a picture and frame combo. There’s a ton of this kid. Anyone can see how crazy he is about that little girl. And the new baby boy on the way. I’m still not positive about my take on the ex-wife and open marriage. That whole situation is messed up. I’m holding a picture of Ava in a long flowing white dress when Brou returns from the bedroom. “She’s a beautiful child, isn’t she?” I place the photo on the shelf. Not a bit of dust. “Yes. And it’s clear to see how much she adores her Unky Bou.” “It’s actually Uncle Boudreaux but she puts her special twist on it.” “I thought Bou was probably a shortened version of Broussard.” “Bridg gave me that name right after I moved here. No one called me Lucas in high school. I was known as Boudreaux Broussard.” “Boudreaux Broussard. That’s a tongue twister.” Brou walks toward the kitchen. “Beer for you?” “Yeah, I’ll take one.”

He returns with an unlabeled bottle. “I have something new Stout and Porter are working to perfect. It’s not quite there yet but it’s pretty damn good. Wanna try it?” “Hell yeah.” I love being privy to new products. I get to rub that in Ivy and Kelsey’s faces. Brou places a glass on the coffee table and pours the hazy orange liquid into the glass. I’m surprised by the color. Doesn’t look like anything they’ve done before. “Has good head, eh?” He’s not going to let me live that one down. “Yes it does. What is it?” “Organic apricot ale.” I bring it to my nose. “Mmm . . . smells good.” “We want to try appealing to more female consumers. Fruity beers seem to be the way.” I would agree with that. “I’m always drawn to a fruity option.” I take a drink once the foam settles. “Rich. Full-bodied. Sweet with a hint of tartness. This is a beer I’d take to the beach.” He snaps his fingers. “Yes. We’re shooting for this to be our first summer seasonal.” “Great choice. How’s the pumpkin ale coming?” Seasonals are always great. “Stout and Porter knocked it out of the park. The first batch rolls out of the brewery in eight weeks.” He lifts his glass of ale. “We’d love to see this one go out in April.” “It’s delicious. I’m sure it’ll be a huge success.” “Did you know you’re the reason Stout works so hard to grow the organic line?” His words tug at my heartstrings. “No. I didn’t.” Of course, he would though. That has always been my Ollie. We had so little in the early years, but even then when he was starving, he would look out for me. While it was my job as the older sister to look out for him. Sweet boy. Sweet man. That’s why it shattered my heart when Eden treated him so poorly. “What made you decide to come over and surprise Stout this weekend?” “There’s more than one reason but mostly I’ve been worried about his recent behavior.” Although I must say he seemed like the old Ollie today. “What kind of change have you seen in him?” “He’s been withdrawn since his breakup with Eden. It’s really worsened over the last couple of weeks. The big sister in me is putting her foot down. I’m tired of being ignored so I came to set my little brother’s ass straight.” Brou smiles into his glass of beer. What is so funny about that? “You said there was more than one reason.” “I also had something important to tell him, and I didn’t want to do it over the phone.” “Sounds intense.” Intense doesn’t really cover it. “It is.”

I’d love someone else’s take on the kidney donation thing. I barely know Brou so I might have a chance of getting an unbiased opinion from him. “Did you know Ollie and I were adopted?” “I’d heard that.” “We were taken away from our biological parents when I was ten and Ollie was six. They were heroin junkies. The neglect we suffered at her hands was bad but our mother wasn’t just an addict. She was cruel. And we were her favorite victims because we were helpless to fight back.” To this day, I don’t understand why she enjoyed mistreating us. But it sparked something in me. An intense desire—maybe even a need—to unconditionally love my own children. Brou puts his hand on my leg and squeezes. “I’m sorry to hear that.” “We were placed with wonderful foster parents who later adopted us. The rest of our childhood was terrific so our story has a happy ending.” “I know your parents well. They’re wonderful people. Libby has been after me for years to come visit them in Savannah.” My goodness. I hadn’t considered the possibility Brou would know Mom and Dad. But that makes sense. They visit Ollie in Birmingham every few months. Brou’s eyes widen. “Nothing’s wrong, I hope.” “Not with them. They’re well and globetrotting in Scotland as we speak. Our birth mother is the one who’s ill.” “You have contact with the woman who abused you?” “Not by choice. She found Ollie and me several years ago. She claimed she was clean and wanted to apologize for the things she’d done. Said she needed to right the wrongs. And she did at first. But then it turned into her asking for a little money to get by because she couldn’t make rent. Within a few months, her hand was out every time she came around. Last week she told me she was in end-stage renal disease and needs a kidney. If we don’t give her one, she’s going to die.” Brou rubs my leg. “Fuck. That’s a terrible guilt trip to put on anyone but especially your children.” “There’s no guilt trip where Ollie’s concerned. He was very clear he wasn’t giving her one of his.” “But you’re considering it?” I live by the law of attraction. Helping her is positive but I have reservations. “I don’t know. The thought of giving someone an organ I could need later down the road is scary as hell. Is that selfish?” “No. It’s a very legitimate concern, especially considering her past. This woman hurt you. I think you’re a saint for even considering it.” “Despite every neglectful and cruel thing Christie did, she’s a human being. How do I live with myself if I stand by and let her die when I could potentially save her?” “Do you know if you’re a match?” “Our blood types are compatible. I’m her child so genetically I’m a fifty percent match, which is acceptable. I’ll need to go through the tissue typing and

crossmatch testing so our compatibility can be confirmed. After that, I would need a physical to see if I’m healthy enough to donate.” “I have questions bouncing around in my head like is she clean and sober? Does she follow doctor’s orders?” “She’s been a noncompliant diabetic in the past but I don’t think any doctor would consider the transplant if she weren’t currently doing as she should.” “There’s a front runner in my head when I consider what she’s asking of you. Do you want children?” There’s no doubt in my mind. “Yes.” “Have you considered how the transplant might impact your ability to start a family?” “I’ve been so busy going back and forth about it I haven’t given that possibility any thought.” I can’t believe I didn’t even consider that, when having a child is so important to me. “People survive with one kidney all the time but it seems like that could cause problems in a pregnancy. So many things can go wrong even under the best conditions. I think she’s asking you to put your future family at risk by doing this.” “That’s an entirely new way of looking at it.” “You wanted my opinion. There it is. And if I had to guess, any legit doctor would bring up that concern during your physical. Some might even use that as a rationale for not using you as a donor.” “All valid points.” Smart, sexy, and now mature and wise. This man is far more than I ever imagined. Why would Ollie warn me against him? “Don’t feel guilty for putting you and your future family ahead of her.” “I needed an objective opinion. My parents and friends are too emotionally involved for that; they know the details of how she abused us so they would never be able to get beyond the past to have an unbiased opinion.” I’m glad I talked to Brou about this. His opinion makes me feel like it’s okay if I don’t go through with it. He has no idea how badly I needed to hear that from someone who didn’t have a place in my inner circle. “Thank you for listening.” Most guys would have lost interest within the first two minutes. “You’re good people, Wren.” You’re good people. Ollie uses that same phrase. “I’m sorry you’ve been worried about Stout. And I hate that you’ve been putting yourself through hell over this decision about your birth mother, but I’m not a bit sorry those things brought you to Birmingham.” “Me either.” He takes my glass from my hand and places it on the coffee table before sliding closer. His hand cups the side of my face and then glides around to the back of my neck. “Your hair. It’s beautiful.” He pushes all of it over one shoulder and drags his nose up the side of my neck. “You smell so good. It’s driving me insane.” He presses a kiss below my earlobe. Chills erupt down the left side of my body. He is making a habit of this. And I’m okay with it. “We’re even because that drives

me crazy too.” We both know what we’re here for so there’s no need pretending to be virtuous. I want hot sex. I move so one knee is on each side of his hips. I lower my body and feel his erection pressing between my legs. That didn’t take long. As he shoves my shirt up, his hot mouth and wet tongue land between my breasts. I lean back with my palms on his thighs, arching my back while thrusting my chest forward. I don’t have a perfect, fit body but I do have great boobs. And I want to show them to him. I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, tossing it to the floor. He unfastens the back of my bra and reunites it with my shirt. I’m completely bare for him from the waist up. He cups my breasts and pushes them up and together. His thumb and index fingers pinch my nipples, sending a message directly to my groin. You better get ready, Lawrence. He wants you. And you’re going to happily let him have you. “Fuck, these are magnificent.” He flattens his tongue against my breast and drags it upward in one clean sweep until the tip reaches my nipple. He sucks it into his mouth and holds it prisoner for a moment before releasing it. “Mmm.” I grind my hips against his groin when he moves over to give my other breast the same attention. My maxi skirt is riding high so my panty-only covered crotch easily feels the huge erection confined within his jeans. I held that impressive cock in my hand this morning so I’m already well acquainted with its magnitude. I can’t wait to have it moving inside me. “Bedroom. Now. This couch isn’t working for the things I want to do to you.” The things he wants to do to me. The probability of what those words mean makes me wetter than I already am. “I think that’s an excellent idea.” I move from his lap to stand. He grasps my hand and leads me down the hallway to his bedroom. He stops at the bedside and removes his wallet and phone from his pocket before dropping both on the nightstand. I grab the bottom of his T-shirt and give it a tug. “I think you’re overdressed.” “I know how to fix that.” He crosses his arms and grabs the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. I stand in awe, taking in his male beauty. Broad shoulders. Pecs filled with muscle. A deep V at his waist, pointing right to his dick. That shit is awesome. Any woman who says it isn’t is a damn liar. He has ink. A lot. I will take my time exploring that a little later. Maybe even outline it with the tip of my tongue. My hands splay over the mounds of muscle covering the top of his chest. I suck a nipple into my mouth and give it a tug with my teeth. Women pay too little attention to men’s nipples. But not me. I love them. Brou’s hands lace through my hair at the nape. “I have a confession.” I look up but don’t release his nipple. “Mmm hmm?” “When I turned around and saw you yesterday, I thought you were the most

beautiful woman I’d ever seen. And then you told me you were Stout’s sister. I was crushed because I knew that meant you were out of my reach.” I release his nipple and straighten so we’re face to face. Sort of. He is quite a bit taller than me. I snake my arms around his shoulders. “I think I’m very much within your reach. I’m yours until the morning so make it count.” He slides his hands down my sides into the waist of my maxi skirt and panties. “We may not sleep at all tonight.” “I’m all in.” Even if it means I won’t be worth shit driving home tomorrow. Every orgasm he gives me will make it worth it. His mouth possesses mine as he pushes my bottoms down. I step out when both pieces drop to my feet and reach for the button of his jeans. Brou ignores his phone vibrating on the nightstand. “You need to get that?” “No fucking way. I’ve waited all day for this.” A full minute doesn’t pass before the phone dances again. “You sure?” “Positive.” The phone rings a third time within two minutes. “They’re persistent.” “They’re dead if they don’t leave us alone.” He groans as he releases me and reaches for his phone. “It’s Warren. I need to take this.” I’m guessing he wouldn’t be calling Brou late on a Sunday night for no good reason. “Hey, man. What’s going on?” Brou turns and sits on the bed. “What are they telling you?” I sit next to him and loop my arm through his free one. I’m surprised when he laces his fingers through mine and squeezes. “Have they told you how they think he’ll do if she delivers this early?” Suspicions confirmed. Bridgette and the baby may be in trouble. “I’m on my way.” Brou ends his call with Warren and releases my hand. “Bridgette’s in the hospital.” He gets up and goes for his shirt on the floor. “I’m sorry, but I really need to be there.” “Of course you do. Completely understandable.” I’m concerned for Bridgette and her baby, but it doesn’t mask my disappointment. Brou comes to me and cradles my face. His lips wrap around his teeth and he closes his eyes so tightly his lashes almost disappear. Going to Bridgette is a given, but he isn’t dropping me and running out the door despite his concern. I don’t think leaving me is easy for him. So good for my ego. He presses his forehead to mine and laces his fingers through the hair at my nape. “Fuck. I wanted this so much.” His voice is a growl of frustration. I know the feeling. “I did too.” He’ll never know how much. “I wish I could hit pause, or rewind, so we could have more moments together.” “You don’t wish it harder than me.”

He kisses my forehead. “It’s late. I’d feel better if you stayed here instead of getting on the road to drive back to Stout’s.” “I may do that if you don’t mind.” He slips his wallet and phone into his pocket. “I don’t mind at all. What time are you planning to leave?” “Probably around seven.” I really need to get back to relieve Wynter at the shop. He pulls me into his arms and looks deeply into my eyes for a moment. “Don’t you dare come back to Birmingham without seeing me.” It’s almost a whisper. “I think I know where to find you.” He kisses the top of my head, and inhales deeply as he holds me for a brief moment. “Drive carefully.” “I will. I hope Bridgette and the baby are okay.” He squeezes me hard and I know it’s because he’s about to let me go. And just like that . . . he’s gone.

Lucas Broussard

I RUN THE NUMBERS THREE TIMES AND COME TO THE SAME CONCLUSION. “I THINK IT’LL MAKE MONEY. IT won’t be a killing but it’s worth trying.” Stout returned from the rehabilitation center refreshed. Functioning at one hundred ten percent. He came up with great ideas while he was there. That’s good for everyone. Contract brewing. That was Stout’s big brainstorm while he was away. We’ll brew beer for those who don’t have their own brick and mortar brewery. They employ us, then use our resources and equipment to produce their product. “Where are these people located?” “A small town outside of Macon, Georgia. It’s on the way to Savannah so I thought I might swing by and see the fam after my meeting with them.” Hmm. I need to get in on that trip. “You should if you’re that close already. How are your parents? I haven’t seen them in a while.” “They’re good. Been traveling all over, but I think they’re planning to stay home for a few months.” “How is Lawrence?” This is the first time I’ve uttered her name to Stout since the festival. “Lawrence is Lawrence.” Generic answer. I want to know more. “Still a hippie?” “Always and forever.” It’s been a month since we parted ways. We haven’t spoken since. I’ve picked up my phone at least twenty times to call or text. But didn’t. I see very little point when she’s four hundred miles away. We agreed to sex. Not a long-distance relationship. “How would you feel about some company on the Macon trip?” I specifically say Macon although Savannah is my ultimate destination. “I don’t mind but this meeting is preliminary. An informal meeting over a late lunch. Won’t be much to it.” “This is a new concept. I’d like to follow it through from the beginning.” But

even more, I’d like to see Wren again. “Okay. I’m on board with you going.” Fuck, yeah. “When is the meeting?” “Tomorrow.” Shit. That soon? “I thought I’d stay over in Savannah tomorrow night, Saturday, Sunday, and leave early Monday so I could be back by lunch.” Two days and three nights in the same town as Wren. Surely, we can find a little time to sneak away. That is if she’s still up for it. Damn, I hope so. “I’ve never been to Savannah.” “Lawrence is the tour host of the family and the history buff. I bet she’d be happy to take you around town for a tour.” She’s falling right into my lap. “That would be cool.” Porter stops in my office doorway. “What would be cool?” “Tap’s going with me to the meeting with the Macon guys and then on to Savannah. I told him Lawrence would give him a tour.” “You’re gonna turn him loose in Savannah with your sister?” “It’s a tour of Savannah.” “He’ll probably take her to the nearest hotel and give her a tour of his dick. You didn’t see the two of them together at the festival.” Come on, Porter. Don’t ruin this for me. “You need to shut the fuck up talking about my sister like that.” “Stout put me in charge of covering for him. It was easier to keep up the façade if I kept her close.” Lie. “He kept her close all right.” What the hell? “I’m warning you once more. Be careful what you say where Lawry is involved so you don’t find your ass yanked over your ears.” “Tell me you didn’t fuck her.” Porter points to his face with his index and middle finger. “And look me in the eyes when you say it.” “I did not fuck Lawrence.” But I wanted to. Bad. Still do. “We’re done talking about this. Tap didn’t touch Lawry so give him a break.” I never said I didn’t touch her but if he wants to assume that without asking, I’m okay with that. Stout gets up to leave. “Be ready to roll out at eight if you plan on going with me.” “I’ll be ready.” “What’s your fucking problem, dude?” “I saw you together. I know you tried. Did she turn you down?” I think he’s seriously hung-up on Wren and believes he can snuff out any chances I have with her by ratting me out to Stout. Bastard. “Drop it. You’re annoying me.” I crumble a piece of paper and throw it at his head, hitting him between the eyes. “Get out of my office, jackass. I have work to do.” He gets up but stops in my doorway. “I know you’re planning to get Lawrence in bed.”

I swipe the stapler from my desk and throw it at him, narrowly missing his nuts. “Motherfucker. You could have hit me in my nads with that.” “Not another word to Stout about me and Lawrence. Mention it again and I will hit you in the balls with a speed stapler next time. You won’t ever walk right again.” Porter knows I can; I was starting pitcher. “I’ve still got it.” “Okay, okay. But a warning from one friend to another. Stout’s gonna know something’s going on when he sees the way you are with her.” He’s talking complete nonsense. “How the hell am I when I’m with her?” “Not you.” What does that mean? I’m not me around Lawrence? Who the fuck could be? She’s . . . all-consuming. But his arrogance is pissing me off. “I think we can agree Lawrence is unlike other women. Have you considered maybe I’m different with her because she’s unique and needs to be handled in a specific manner?” “You handle women one way and one way only.” The ass is referring to my fourstep dating process. “Back down, motherfucker. I’m not planning on handling Lawrence at all.” Lie. And he knows me well enough to probably see that. “I’m done talking about this.” “Okay. Let me say this and then I’ll shut up. It’s obvious you want her so bad you can’t stand it. When Stout finds out, there’s going to be a fallout. Serious repercussions. You’d better be damn sure she’s worth whatever you’re planning.” Don’t worry. She is.

OUR MEETING WITH THE MACON GUYS RAN SO LONG IT’S AFTER FIVE WHEN WE PULL INTO SAVANNAH. “Mom and Dad said you’re welcome to stay at their house. You don’t have to go to a hotel.” “I don’t want to put them out.” I have no idea where the Thorns live but I’m certain it isn’t within walking distance to Wren’s shop like the hotel I chose. “Sure you don’t want to come out to the house for dinner? Mom will have plenty.” No. I have somewhere to be. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll have room service brought up and turn in early.” “Want me to call Lawrence and see if she can do a tour with you tomorrow?” I’m not ready for her to know I’m in town. “Wait until I’ve done a little research.

There may be some public tours I want to do.” “Whatever.” I’m having him hold off because I assume he hasn’t already told Wren I’m in Savannah with him. I guess we’ll see. I didn’t want Wren to have notice I was coming; I was afraid she might put too much thought into this and decide spending time together was a bad idea. It may be but it’s still what I want. I haven’t stopped thinking about it once since the night I had to leave her at my house. It’s a short walk to River Street from my hotel. Wren is right. With its cobblestone streets, picturesque parks, and historic buildings, this is a beautiful city. I can see why she loves living here. I have no trouble finding Law of Attraction Boutique. It’s right across from the river, just as Wren described. A bell rings when I enter her shop. Dammit. I didn’t want to immediately draw attention to myself. I sort of imagined us having one of those movie-like reunions where our eyes meet and we race into each other’s arms. Damn, I must be growing a vagina. That sounded like something a woman would dream. What is this woman doing to me? “Hello. May I help you?” Not Wren. That’s good. I still have a chance at the reunion I want. “Just came in to look around.” “Feel free. My name is Wynter. Let me know if I can help you with anything.” “I’ll do that. Thank you.” I browse the store while searching out Wren. I occasionally catch the sales associate eyeing me but I don’t get the feeling she’s checking me out. Maybe she’s surprised I’m looking around this kind of boutique. I’m guessing they don’t get a ton of men shopping in this store considering most of the items are for women. I circle the store for ten minutes without hearing or seeing a trace of Wren. I’m starting to think she may not even be here. “Are you looking for a gift?” “No. Actually I’m looking for Lawrence Thorn.” “She stepped out to grab dinner at the restaurant on the corner. Want me to call down there and let her know you’re here to see her?” I’m relieved to know she’s here. “Has she been gone a while?” “Long enough I would expect her to be back soon.” I don’t want her to have notice of my arrival. “I’m not in a hurry so I’ll keep browsing around the store until she gets back.” “All right. Would you care for some water or chai tea while you wait?” I smile inside remembering the morning we had chai tea together. “I’m fine, thank you.” I look around and come across an oddity. Looks like a grass dildo. “Wynter, what is this?”

“A sage and sweet grass smudging stick.” “What do you do with it?” I’m a little frightened to hear the answer. “You burn it and use the smoke to purify or bless people and places.” “I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Wren, you have weird shit in your store. I think you may be much deeper into this bohemian stuff than I thought. “Have you ever been in?” “No. I have no idea what most of this stuff is or what you do with it.” “That’s okay. I’m happy to answer any of your questions.” There’s an entire wall of natural remedies. Insomnia. Depression. Cold and flu symptoms. The list goes on and on. Looks like there’s an oil, herb, extract, or healing stone for whatever ails you. The display of lavender catches my eye so I open the tester for a sniff. Mmm. Smells so much like Wren. The door chimes but I don’t turn. If it’s Wren I don’t want to be seen. Not yet. A minute later, I hear the aged wood-plank flooring creak behind me. “I might be able to help with choosing an oil if you . . . give me a description of your symptoms.” Ahh. Sweet Wren’s child-like voice is music to my ears. A melody my ears have craved. It’s been too long since I heard it. I return the bottle of lavender to the shelf, keeping my back turned on Wren. “I met a woman last month and I believe she has bewitched me.” I hear her gasp and know she’s pegged me. “Brou?” Her voice is a whisper. I continue standing with my back to her. “I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate. It’s impossible to work because she’s in my head. All. The. Fucking. Time.” I turn around and my eyes meet Wren’s. But more than that happens. She’s beaming. And I may even see a glisten around those beautiful baby blues. I realize in this moment how very much I want her. It’s worse than I thought. I’ve come here like an ocean reaching and running toward her as though she’s my shore. Fuck. I’ve never chased a woman. Only ran from them. “I need something to remedy this overwhelming desire I have to see her.” She doesn’t throw herself into my arms so I’ll not get my movie-like reunion. “It’s probably not an oil you need. Have you tried calling her? Or maybe texting?” “I wanted to. Thought about it every day since she left.” “But?” “I was afraid she might have come to her senses and decided I was a bad idea.” “I bet she doesn’t think you’re a bad anything. This woman’s probably been feeling the exact same way. Scared.” I move closer to Wren and place my hand on the side of her face. Hers comes to rest on top of mine as she turns her face inward to kiss my palm. “You’re here with Ollie?” “It came together at the last minute. I didn’t want to call because I was afraid you’d tell me it would be better if I didn’t come.” Easier to get forgiveness than permission.

“I’m very happy you’re here.” Wren wraps her hand around mine and uses it to lead me to the checkout counter. “Wynter, can you close tonight without me? Brou and I haven’t seen each other in a while. We have some catching up to do.” That sounds promising. “No problem. Have a good time.” “I need to get my bag and then we can go.” I follow her to the back of the store, and we slip out the exit. She stops in the dark alley and takes my hands. “I wanted to stay that next day to see you. But I couldn’t.” “I understand. I wish I didn’t have to leave you to go to Bridgette that night. But I had no choice.” “I keep up with them through Ollie. He said she and the baby are doing well.” “He’s still a little guy but a big fighter. The doctor calls him a growing preemie. He says he sees no long-term problems from coming so early. We’ll be playing baseball together before you know it. I’m going to make a pitcher out of him.” “I’m glad everything turned out okay. I know and understand how much they mean to you.” “You’re one of the few who do.” So non-judgmental. I think it’s another one of the reasons I like her so much. I haven’t touched her in a month. It’s all I want to do. This isn’t the most ideal place but I can’t help myself. I cradle her face and bring my lips to hers, but stop before they come together. Only our breath touches. “For thirty days and thirty nights, I’ve hardly thought of anything but you.” “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you too.” “Is there any chance we can get back the night we should have had a month ago?” She nods, her eyes never leaving mine. “How long are you staying in Savannah?” “Driving back early Monday morning.” “I think we can get our night back plus two more.” Three nights. Surely that will be enough for me to get my fix so I’ll stop obsessing night and day over this woman. Porter was right. I want her so bad I can’t stand it. I’m risking my friendship with Stout. My business relationship. Maybe even my livelihood. And I don’t care. She’s worth the gamble. I’m going all in.

Lawrence Thorn

I CAN’T BELIEVE BROU CAME TO ME. SHOWED UP IN THE MIDDLE OF MY STORE OUT OF THE BLUE LIKE THAT. “Where are you staying?” He laughs. “The Bohemian. I thought it was fitting. And close to your shop.” “I’ve always wanted to see that hotel but have never had a reason to be in it.” But I have a reason now. “Will you stay with me tonight?” Hell, yes. “I’d love to. Is it okay if we swing by my place first so I can pick up some things?” I wasn’t dolled up in pretty lingerie that night with Brou a month ago. Plain white bra. White cotton panties. Not sexy. But in my defense, I had no idea I might have sex while visiting my brother. So here I am again with little notice prior to sex. At least this time, I can go by and pick up something decent so I can change before he sees me in white cotton a second time. I don’t have a lot to choose from. I haven’t made a habit of needing sexy lingerie to wear for a man but I do have a pretty ivory lace bralette with matching cheeky knickers. Probably not the kind of lingerie Brou is used to seeing on a woman but the style fits me. And I happen to think he likes me the way I am, weirdo and all. “Do you walk to work every day?” “I usually ride my bike unless it’s raining. That was it in the back alley chained to the wall.” “That old-timey one with the basket?” I elbow him. “Don’t call Beatrice that. She’s vintage.” “My apologies. I didn’t mean to hurt Beatrice’s feelings.” “I won’t tell her what you said.” I turn the deadlock and push the door open. “This is it. Home sweet home.” Brou follows me in and takes a look around. “This fits you to a T.” I love my silver sectional with purple and chartreuse throw pillows. I know. Very girly. “It’s not a brown couch with brown walls.” “Are you talking smack about my brown couch and walls?” “Not at all. Your house is masculine. Very you.” I point at the chaise end of the

sectional. “Cop a squat and relax. I won’t be long.” I fetch my overnight bag from the top of my bedroom closet and do a mental checklist of everything I need. I organize the pieces neatly on the bed before placing them in my bag. Except the lingerie. I tuck it away in my bag in case he pops into my bedroom. I want that to be a surprise. Brou calls out something I don’t understand. “What was that?” He appears in my bedroom doorway. No shock there. I figured he wouldn’t stay away. “I said no television?” “I had one but all it did was collect dust so I gave it to my elderly neighbor to replace the huge console TV she had.” The thing was so big it took up half her living room. “I can’t believe you encouraged someone to replace her vintage television with something modern.” “Smart-ass.” But he sort of has me there. “I’m kidding. That was a very nice thing to do.” He crosses the room and grabs me from behind, kissing the side of my neck. I melt, as do my panties. “You’re taking too long.” “You do realize you’re slowing me down?” He cups me between my legs. “I know but I couldn’t keep my hands off you another minute. I want to fuck you so bad I can’t stand it.” I was planning to freshen up and change into something pretty for him. To fuck with it. “Then do.” He inches my skirt up my legs. “Do you have condoms?” Fuck, no. But I would have if I’d known he was coming. I shake my head. “You aren’t prepared like a good boy scout?” He presses his head to the back of mine and groans. “Fuck, they’re in the hotel room. I thought I’d have enough damn restraint to wait.” “That’s too bad.” He grabs my ass and squeezes. “I have other goodies in the room too.” He puts his mouth against my neck and makes a buzzing sound that vibrates against my skin. Of course, my skin erupts with the physical proof of what he’s doing to me. “So you might want to get a move on.” He releases me and I return to packing my bag. “I know we’ll use condoms but I still feel like I should tell you I’m not on any kind of birth control.” It only seems right since we’ll be solely dependent upon them. “You don’t have to worry about a pregnancy. I’ve had a vasectomy.” What? I mean . . . what? I turn around and look at him. Stupefied. I can’t even say anything because it feels like I just had a swift kick to the gut. “What is it, Wren?” I have to dig deep to find my voice. “Brou. Why would you do that?” “I never want to go through losing another baby.”

I knew Brou went through hell when he lost Eli but I didn’t really understand how wounded he was until this moment. This man is carrying scars deeper than I dared to imagine. “But you wouldn’t have the same outcome with a different woman.” Unless she had the gene for the kidney stuff. And what are the odds of that happening again? “Who’s to say another child wouldn’t have some other kind of problem?” “It’s a chance any parent takes when they conceive.” He shakes his head. “Not me. I will never bring another child into this world.” I don’t know what to say to that but I guess I understand a little better now why he clings to Bridgette’s children. He’ll never have any of his own. “Is this a problem for you?” There isn’t a reason in the world it should be. Yet it bothers me, which is really stupid. We’re having sex. Pregnancy-free sex. That’s it. “No problem.” “Everything still works the same except I shoot blanks.” Blanks. I guess I should be happy I don’t have to worry about an unplanned pregnancy. “I know. You coming in my hand was proof of that. And the big wet spot on your pants.” I giggle at the memory of Brou standing there covering his crotch so my brother didn’t see it. “There’s that smile I love so much.” I love that he loves my smile. He certainly has the power to provoke it. “I’m ready if you are.” He comes to me and drags the back of his hand down my cheek. “I have been for a month, you silly girl.”

I’M PLENTY EXPERIENCED IN THE SEX DEPARTMENT BUT I CAN’T SAY I’VE HAD A LOT OF GREAT SEX. MOST men are selfish lovers. Takers. Not givers. It wasn’t until a few years ago that realization clicked for me. So I stepped back and made a decision. I would no longer give my body to takers who didn’t give pleasure in return. I’m not a walking vagina for their satisfaction as so many of them believe. “This room is beautiful, Brou.” And perfect for hotel sex. “I may spend the next three days right here and never leave the room.” “I was kinda hoping for that.” “Maybe if Ollie weren’t visiting.” “Then I think I should take him to Birmingham and come back without him.”

Depending how the next three days go, I might be up for a return visit. But I’m not bringing it up yet. I don’t want Brou to freak out because he thinks I’m pushing for anything beyond hot sex. “You told me you brought goodies. I did, too, but I need a minute to get ready.” Brou takes my bag into the bathroom. “All yours. You know where to find me when you’re ready.” I start by taking off my clothes and changing into my lingerie. That’s a loose term for what I’ll be wearing. Releasing my hair from the knot on top of my head, it falls softly to my mid back in a wave. Its softness against my near-naked body feels exquisite. Remembering Brou’s words when he first touched my hair has my heart rate increasing. You’re so beautiful. I’ll forego brushing it and shake it out a little so I retain the curl. I love how he wraps his hands in my hair and pulls me back toward him with it. He’s a giver and I want all he’s going to give. I love how you smell. Let’s see how much my seductive oil mixture, with its exotic, sweet, and floral scent gets him going. It’s said to increase sexual attraction between partners. Not really necessary. When was the last time I went to this much effort for a man? Imagining his hands touching me, worshipping my body, has my skin tingling. I need him. Now. One last look in the mirror, and a little push of my boobs higher in the lacy bralette, and I’m ready. With Brou, I feel attractive. Wanted. Desired. I’m wet already. Go get him. The sound of slow, seductive music made just for lovers welcomes me when I open the door. A tool for the sense of hearing to speak to the most important sex organ: our brain. The music makes me happy; it means he’s trying. That’s why I said yes to this. Brou is sitting on the edge of the bed wearing only his boxer briefs. “I knew you weren’t coming out in clothes so I saw no need in going through the take this and that off so we can throw it here and there.” Handsome and practical. I like it. “I hope you weren’t expecting black and naughty with net stockings.” He holds his arms out for me. “Come ’ere.” He places his arms on my hips when I reach him. He slowly glides them downward and around to hold my bare cheeks. A roguish grin spreads beneath his beard. His mouth hovers against my skin, his warm breath teasing me. “You don’t need black lace and net stockings when you wear your skin like silk.” “That’s a lovely thing to say.” His hands cup my ass and lift me so I’m straddling him. Those strong hands then hold each side of my face, and he gazes into my eyes. “It’s the truth, Wren. You’re sexy without the smut.” What I see there confirms my hope. This man wants me just as I am—the natural me with full hips and plump thighs. No thigh gap between a pair of skinny legs going on here. I snake my arms over his shoulders and pull him against me. I love feeling this close.

His hands squeeze my hips when I rotate them in a circular motion against his hard cock pressing into my crotch. His eyes lock with mine and I will him to see the thoughts behind them. I like you, Lucas Broussard. A lot. He slides his hand beneath my bralette and circles my nipple with his thumb. It’s instantly hard. His other hand mimics the same motion before pushing the lace garment up to free my breasts. “I love these so much.” Then he should have full access. Bra tossed and gone. Only panties left. He cups my breasts from the bottom and pushes them together. He lightly pinches my nipples, sending a chain reaction of rapture to my groin. “These are beautiful.” I want my hands on him now. I try to slip my hand into his boxer briefs but he flips us over so I’m on my back. “It’s been a while; I need to pace myself. I’m afraid I’ll blow if you touch me.” I wonder what constitutes a while for him. And does that mean he hasn’t been with a woman since we parted? I hope he hasn’t been with another woman. I hope my face is the only one he’s seen while his hand stroked his cock. I hope he’s spent every day and every night thinking only of me. His lips claim the side of my neck while his hand navigates its way down my body. His fingers splay over the front triangle of my cheeky knickers and rub my mound through the fabric. His touch is simultaneously arousing while tortuous; it isn’t enough. I want more of it. I part my legs wide, giving him full access to my body. It’s my cue, giving him permission to touch me any way he likes. My shallow breath is moving in and out of my chest quickly as I anticipate what’s coming next. Fantasize about it. Make me come, Brou. I need it so much. He pulls back on the elastic band of my panties and glides his hand down the front. Yes. That’s what I want. He pushes a finger down through my slick center and back up once in a slow, torturous stroke. My clit is barely grazed. Sweet agony. That’s the only way to describe it. I’m desperate, and inpatient, so I move against his fingers, riding them, in hopes of cueing him to my need. More. “You can tell me what you want. Anything. I’ll give it to you.” Oh. He likes words. “What you’re doing right now . . . more of it, please.” He moves the tips of his two, maybe three, fingers faster. Every upward stroke hits my clit. I jolt from the surprise of its sensitivity. “Does that feel good?” “Mmm hmm.” He changes his technique and rubs me in a circular motion. My back bows from the bed and my legs fall even farther apart. “And this?” “Yesss.” He’s hitting everything in my feel-good zone. It’s magnificent. A soft whine slips from my mouth when Brou stops and moves to his knees. Why’d he stop? It was getting so good.

He grasps the sides of my panties and drags them down my legs. “I’ve been dying to get my mouth on you since I had that small sample.” Oh, shit. He’s going down. He presses his lips to my inner thigh and places a kiss against my scalding skin. I’m trembling, and so on edge, I nearly jolt out of my skin from the erotic contact. “Nervous?” “That’s a hot spot for me. Super sensitive.” It hasn’t been touched in a long time. He trails kisses up my inner thighs, and I can’t control squirming beneath him. “I have three nights in Savannah. I hope to use all of them becoming personally acquainted with each of your hot spots.” He moves upward and nibbles the skin of my groin that makes me involuntarily convulse. He’s found a second one. Brou isn’t stripping off my panties and jumping straight into this. He’s warming me up for what’s to come. I like that a lot. When he’s finished at my groin, he goes to the center of my mound, and drags his bearded face south to kiss me there. His tongue sneaks out of his mouth and skims the skin above the top of my slit. I know he’s pacing this but I want to lift my hips and force his mouth down so bad. He pushes my legs apart and flutters of kisses line the bends of my legs. Every nerve ending in my pelvis is revved. “Please . . .” “Please, what, Wren?” I can’t form a complete sentence. My brain is mush. “Tell me what you want.” There are a lot of things swirling in my head but I can’t bring myself to say any of them. “Put your mouth on me. Please.” “Always so sweet and polite, so how could I not give you what you want?” He places his tongue flat against my center and swipes upward like I’m a fastmelting ice cream cone. Until he changes maneuvers and uses the tip of his tongue in a circular movement around my clitoris. I lace my fingers through his hair and tilt my pelvis upward. “Need more?” “Yes.” He plunges a finger inside me, and then another, while sucking my clitoris. His fingers move in and out, methodically slow at first, but gradually increasing in speed and pressure. No one has ever done anything like this to me. It’s amazing. The motion stimulates my whole erogenous zone in a teasing way, pushing me to an erotic edge I’ve never experienced. Fuzzy, warm tingles in my toes. My body simultaneously tensed and relaxed. Incoherent babble begins as the tingly waves of sensation occur deep within my pelvis. I want to suppress them so I can prolong my orgasmic plateau but it’s like standing at the finishing line of a race and jogging in place. The combination thing Brou is doing with his mouth and fingers feels so good. He’s going to shove me across the finishing line without my permission.

Soon. I put my fingers into his hair and fist the top while I squirm beneath him. A tsunami of moans, groans, and panted breath escapes my mouth when the rhythmic flutters in my pelvis begin. He sucks harder and slows the motion of his fingers. His movements are methodical. Deliberate. Brou has made this all about me. He wants to bring me pleasure. And he does. Rhythmic twitching inside me. Pulsation in my face. A warm flush on my chest. They’re the precursors for the euphoria coursing throughout me. I. Can’t. Move. Brou slithers up my body, stopping along the way to kiss my stomach and breasts. We’re face to face once he reaches his destination. I’m so bedazzled it takes several blinks before I’m able to focus on his face. That beard is a glorious tool for oral sex, and he knows exactly how to use it. I touch my finger to his bottom lip. That’s a talented mouth you have there, sir. You pack some major orgasmic power behind that beard. “I hope that was good for you.” “Sensational.” I rise and push against his chest, my cue for him to roll to his back so I can return the oral favor, but he doesn’t move. “It’s been a long month. I’m ready to be inside you if that’s okay.” “Yeah. I want that too.” He rises to his knees and leans over to fetch a condom from the nightstand. He pushes the front of his boxer briefs down and tears the square package with his teeth. One fluid motion and he’s sheathed in latex. I capture the waistband of his underwear with my toes and push them down as he crawls over me. Now we’re both naked. Lucas Broussard is all man. And all naked, lying on top of me with his chest pressed to mine. This isn’t me fantasizing about him between my legs while I use my vibrator to satisfy the ache. Not me rubbing my bullet over my clit while I imagine his hot tongue flicking against it. He is here and this is actually happening. I part my legs wide when Brou settles between them and reaches to position himself at my entrance. He slides his tip through the slickness and enters me slowly before plunging deeper. He closes his eyes tightly when he’s all the way inside me. “You feel so good.” He pulls back with deliberate leisure and then thrusts with total domination. His pace is slow at first, but every stroke is deliberate and fierce. “So tight and wet. Fuck.” He moves faster and thrusts as deeply as our bodies will allow. I tighten my inner muscles around him and circle his waist with my legs. We aren’t like that long before he grabs my thighs and pushes them back and apart. That is deep. And oh, so good.

His baby blues lock with mine as he thrusts over me. Normally, I’d look away. Eye contact during sex is uncomfortable for me. But not with Brou. I can’t take my eyes off his. “Oh, fuck. This one is happening fast.” Brou bites his bottom lip as he thrusts deep one last time before sinking over me. His body is completely unmoving and relaxed between my legs. He’s still inside me when he kisses the side of my neck and traces his fingertips in circles over my shoulder and upper arm. What is he thinking? Was that as enjoyable for him as it was for me? ’Cause I thought it was damn good. “What is that fragrance you’re wearing?’ “A mixture of essential oils. A potion for seduction.” “I don’t think the oil made me want you.” He sniffs the space behind my ear. “But you smell fucking delicious.” He pulls out of me slowly and turns to sit on the side of the bed. I hear the snap of latex and then he’s back by my side. “Come ’ere.” I scoot closer, place my head on his chest, and toss my leg over his body. He wraps his arm around my upper back and arm so we’re intertwined like a vine. I kiss his chest and he returns the gesture on the top of my head. “I came for you.” He. Came. For. Me. Four words I longed to hear but hadn’t realized what they’d mean if he actually said them. He didn’t travel six hours to get laid. He came for me. “I’m glad you’re here.” And I’m happy we missed out on that night a month ago. It gave him time to obsess over me. And maybe I did a little obsessing over him as well. Possibly wracking my brain every day for a reasonable excuse to go back to Birmingham so I could see him. But he came to me instead. That makes me feel incredibly special. Wanted. And happy. I lie quietly until my phone alerts me to a new text. “Ugh. I do not feel like getting up for whoever that is.” He pulls away and scoots to the edge of the bed. “I’ll get it for you. Could be important.” I shamelessly ogle Brou as he crosses the room to get my bag from the table. What a delicious specimen of a man. And he’s mine for the weekend. Mmm. “Thank you.” I sit up and take my phone from my bag. Mom’s cooking breakfast in the morning. I brought Lucas to town with me and she wants him to come too. Can you go by the Bohemian Hotel and pick him up at 8? “Looks like you have an invitation to my parents’ house for breakfast in the

morning.” I’m happy about the invitation but it means we don’t get to sleep in. I was under the impression we were going to have a most-of-the-night sexathon. Eight o’clock is going to roll around early. Will we go to my parents’ in sex comas or cut our night short and turn in early? He came for me, so I am not giving that up. Sex coma, it is. I feel like jacking around with Ollie. Lucas who? That should throw him off our tracks. Not that I think he has a clue I’m in his hotel room right now. My business partner. Lucas Broussard. Those damn oils and herbs are messing with your head. He loves to fuck with me about that stuff. Oh, right. You always call him Tap. Sure. I can pick him up. I work part-time as a driver with Uber so I can be your partner’s cabbie. I have nothing better to do. Smart ass. You say that like it’s a bad thing. See you in the morning. Love you, smart ass. K. Love you too, jackass. I place my phone on the nightstand and return to lying against Brou’s chest. “Well, that couldn’t have worked out better if we’d planned it ourselves.” Brou’s phone buzzes next. “Well, I guess we know who that is.” He reaches over and reads his message aloud. “You’re invited to breakfast at my parents’ in the morning. My sister Lawrence is coming to get you. Be in the lobby at five to eight.” I hear a swoosh after Brou thumbs a response. “Invitation accepted.” “Do you think it will be hard to be around each other in front of them and pretend we didn’t have sex and spend the night together? I’m not the best actress. I’ll probably look at you and break into a freshly fucked grin.” “If we’re going over there at eight then technically we’d need to have mornin’ sex for you to be considered freshly fucked.” “I’m up for mornin’ sex. The question will be if you are up for it?” “I’ll be sure to be up for it.”

“Are you up for it again or is it too soon?” “You tell me if I’m ready for more.” I move my hand down and find the tip of his cock at his belly button. Hard as a rock, and no less impressive despite the short time since we had sex. An illusory bell sounds in my head. Round two.

Lucas Broussard

I WAKE TO A BEAUTIFUL NAKED WOMAN LYING CLOSE, HER ASS ONLY A FEW INCHES FROM MY COCK. INSTANT morning wood. I scoot closer and thrust my dick between the split in her cheeks as I snake my arm around to squeeze her breast. She straightens her shoulders, arches her back, and rubs her ass against me. I think we agreed last night she’d need to be freshly fucked before breakfast. I turn and grab a condom from the nightstand. I sheath myself in latex and then open the top drawer and take out the goody I promised. A bullet. I adjust so I’m in prime position to take her from behind. But I want to make this good for her. Really good. I grasp the inside of her thigh and bend it at the knee. That’s right. Put it on top of mine. Legs spread wide. “Roll toward me just a little.” She’s tilted so my cock can still access her from the back and my hand can reach her front. “Is it okay if I use this?” She looks at the bullet and smiles. She knows what this is. I bet she has one and uses it often. “You certainly may.” Good. I’m going to use a little pulsation to get her warmed up. And wet. I start by kissing the back of her neck while circling the small vibrator around one of her nipples. I pay attention to her body language. Not a lot seems to be going on so I interpret that as less than stellar. Maybe it’s too powerful for an area so sensitive. Either way, time to move on. I only want to do what makes Wren feel great. I cup my hand around the body of the bullet and move it lower. I don’t want to go straight for her hot spot so I take a detour to roam from one side of her groin to the other. And everything in between. She initially jolts but then squirms and rolls her hips when I drag the pulsating orb across the top of her pelvis. Ahh, there’s a spot she likes. I tease her mercilessly, exploring every inch of her groin and pelvis while careful to avoid the one place she must be craving it most. I’m going to make her want it so

bad she’s dripping wet. And I could be getting close according to her body language. I drop my hand between her legs and cup her mound, my fingers dipping into her slickness. So wet. Yeah, she’s ready for me. She wiggles when I position my tip at her entrance. I push a little and retreat, repeating the motion several times until I’m fully inside her. This is where I want to be. Balls deep inside of Wren. I move the bullet to the top of her slit, over her clit, and she cups her hand over mine. “I got this. You just concentrate on fucking me.” I relinquish control of the vibrator so Wren can be in charge of her own orgasm. I admire a woman who doesn’t lie in place and take whatever is given to her. She isn’t afraid to take authority over her own climax. “Fuck me hard, Broussard.” No man has ever hated hearing that. I grasp her hips and grip tightly as I thrust into her from behind. The buzz from the bullet grows louder. She’s putting the little devil on high speed. I grasp her leg and pull it back so she’s spread wide. I prop on one elbow and look over her shoulder so I can watch the show happening up front without me. Watching her get herself off is a fucking beautiful sight. She arches her back and adjusts her hips. “You’re right there where I need you.” I guess I’m hitting her hot headquarters in this position. Mental note made. “Oh, Brou. I’m about to come.” There’s her name for me. Her body tenses and she closes her legs. Normally I’d think that was a bad thing, maybe robbing me of the access I love. But fuck, her body is squeezing my cock even tighter in that position. Hell, yes. The hold her body has on my cock increases and relaxes in a rhythmic pattern. Tighten. Release. Tighten. Release. If I weren’t wearing this condom, I bet her body would be sucking every drop of semen out of me. I wish I were bare so I could come inside her. Weird. I haven’t had a thought like that in . . . ever. Wren presses her face into a pillow. “Ohh . . . Brou.” There it is again. I thrust hard one last time. My body involuntarily jerks as my hot stream is caught and contained by the latex. I press my forehead on Wren’s back and slow my breathing. “That was so fucking good. We have to do it like that again.” I take the bullet from her hand. “And use this little guy.” He’s beneficial for her and me. “You want to do that again now?” I don’t think I could. I’m sucked bone dry. “No. Tonight.” She twists and kisses me over her shoulder. “Okay. That’s doable.” I consider myself a carnal connoisseur. I’ve fucked a lot of women in my life, and I’ve made most of them come, but never during penetration. It’s always required me rubbing her off or performing oral to achieve it. This is a first for me. No woman’s body has ever done this to me. I have been missing out. Maybe they have been too. It’s fucking amazing. I. Want. More.

STOUT MEETS US AT THE DOOR AND WREN WHIRLS INTO HIS ARMS. “I’VE MISSED YOU, JERK FACE.” He spins her around and kisses her cheek. “It’s only been a month.” “Yeah, but I only saw you for a few hours then. Before that, it had been months.” “Well, I’m here now, you damn hippie.” Wren plants a big kiss on Stout’s cheek before he releases her. “I’m going to see if Mom needs help with breakfast.” She flutters away, not giving me a second glance. Feels odd for the woman I just fucked three times in the last twelve hours to not be clingy. Of course, Wren can’t be because of the circumstances, but I don’t think she would even if the situation was different. Stout punches me in the arm. “Hey, man. I hope it’s cool I sent my sister to get you.” “No problem.” “I know you must think she’s into some really weird stuff—and don’t get me wrong, she is—but my sister’s pretty awesome.” Wren is very awesome. “Yeah. We spent some time together at the festival. Different is good.” “Lucas Broussard, get yourself in here and see me.” I smile. Stout shoves my shoulder. “Better get in there and see Mama Thorn ASAP. She sounds serious.” Libby Thorn, amazingly warm and welcoming mother to Wren and Stout. Since the first day I met her, she’s been a second mother to me too. Knowing a little more about their past, I am incredibly impressed with the woman. And grateful she stepped into the role as their mother. Mrs. Thorn wipes her floured hands on her apron before coming to me for a hug. “It’s wonderful to see you again. It’s been too long.” “It’s good to be here. Thank you for the breakfast invitation.” She releases me and turns to Stout. “How did you finally talk the Cajun into coming out for a visit?” Stout shrugs. “All his idea.” “Well, we are very happy to have you.” “You have a beautiful home.” “Thank you. Been here thirty years.” What a great place for Wren to grow up, at least after the age of ten. Which reminds me—I wonder what happened with her

birth mother about the kidney transplant. I need to ask about that later. “Breakfast is going on the table,” Mrs. Thorn calls out. “Then I’m here just in time.” Quentin Thorn meets me halfway for a handshake. “Good to see you, Lucas.” “And you, sir. Thank you for having me.” Mrs. Thorn moves bowls of food from the counter to the table. “You should be staying here instead of that hotel.” “I didn’t want to put you out.” “You wouldn’t be putting anyone out. In fact, you should check out and stay here the next two nights.” Oh, no. That’s not happening. Too many good things are going on in that hotel room. Wren’s eyes catch mine. Her lips wrap around her teeth as she works to suppress the evidence of what she’s thinking. She wasn’t kidding about being a bad actress. Or am I simply aware? “Maybe next time since I'm all settled into my room.” Mrs. Thorn points at me. “I’m going to hold you to that.” The breakfast on the table looks like it could feed a dozen people. “Hope you're hungry. I cooked plenty.” “I see that.” Bowls begin circling to the right. “Well, I have one who won't eat meat and everything must be organic. Another who won’t touch sweets for breakfast. And then a third on a strict no-salt diet. It's hard to come up with one menu to fit all those needs.” “I have no special dietary needs or preferences so don’t be surprised to see me have a little of everything.” Mrs. Thorn holds out a plate of pastries covered in powdered sugar. “Beignets for our Louisiana boy.” “These look so good. Thank you. I haven’t had one since my last trip to Louisiana.” I grew up with Cajun and French food all around me. I didn’t really know how good it was, or how much I would miss it, until I moved to Birmingham. “Cafe au lait?” “Yes, please.” I bite into the beignet, and it’s almost like being home. “Not everyone can make a good beignet but these are delicious.” Wren points to the corner of her lower lip. “You’ve got a little powdered sugar there.” I flick my tongue out and taste the sweetness. “Good?” She grins and looks down at her plate. “Yeah.” “So, flower child. Mom says you have a new boyfriend.” What. The. Fuck. Wren’s head jerks in Stout’s direction. Her eyes widen as her jaw sets. “I do

not.” “So Mom’s lying?” Wren rolls her eyes. “No. We’ve been out a couple of times but he’s not my boyfriend.” “But you like him?” Stout asks. “He’s a nice guy.” Way to avoid answering the question. “Are you going out with him again?” Thank you for asking that, Stout. Inquiring minds want to know. She shrugs and shakes her head. “I don’t know.” Again. What. The. Fuck. “Has this guy asked you for a third date?” “Yeah. I was supposed to see him after work last night. Something came up so I canceled.” She didn’t mention a word about having plans with any other guy. “You don’t have to be so pissy about it. I was only asking because I care and don’t want you going out with losers who’ll hurt you.” “I’ve met him, Oliver. I can vouch he’s a very nice man,” Mrs. Thorn says. Shit. She’s introduced this dick to her parents? “What does this guy do for a living? Is he into the same kind of stuff as you?” Wren looks at me and then at Stout. “He owns the restaurant on the corner from my shop. It specializes in organic and vegan dishes.” Was that where she’d gone for dinner last night? And if she had plans, when and how did she cancel them? Did they intend to meet up for sex after they finished work? Fuck. He knows all about organic and vegan stuff. Great. I’m sure they have all kinds of shit in common. Probably more than us. “They grow all their own herbs and use only fresh, local ingredients. Isn’t that a nice way to support the local farmers?” Mrs. Thorn asks. Stout chuckles. “Sounds like the perfect granola guy for you.” Wren shrugs again and uses her fork to push around the food on her plate. It’s her only reply. Until last night, I hadn’t seen or spoken to Wren in a month. She was completely free to do as she wished. I had no kind of claim on her. But things feel different after last night. I don’t want her with this guy. It bothers the fuck out of me she’s been seeing someone else. I don’t like it worth a damn. I can’t remember a time that’s ever happened. Wren is presenting me with a series of firsts. Some I like. Some, not so much. I don’t care for the way this feels at all. “Where do you plan on taking Lucas?” Mr. Thorn asks. “Actually, I was going to talk to Lawrence about giving him a tour since she’s the one who knows the area’s history. I thought when you finish we might meet for

drinks over at The Distillery. They have a ton of craft beer. I’d like to do a tasting since I’m trying to come up with ideas for next winter’s seasonal. It’s never too early to start brainstorming.” “That’s not a bad idea.” It could help us narrow down the choices. “What time do you want to meet?” Finally. She speaks. “Eight o’clock sound okay?” “Yeah. We should have time to hit the high points.” “Are you doing your Sunday girls’ trip to Tybee Island?” Wren looks at me. “We were planning on it.” “Care if Tap and I crash?” Wren grins as she looks at her plate. “I’m sure that’ll be fine.” “Lawrence has hot-ass friends.” Maybe so but they’re nothing compared to her. “Oliver.” Mrs. Thorn uses her warning voice. It’s one I recognize well; I’ve heard it from my mother many times. “Sorry. I meant to say Ivy and Kelsey are lovely young women and I’m certain you’ll enjoy their company.” Mr. Thorn is the first to push away from the table. “Wonderful as always, Lib.” Wren slides away next. “I’ll help you clear the table and load the dishwasher.” “No, honey. You should get an early start with Lucas. I have all day to clear this. You two get going.” “Okay.” Wren hugs her mother and then turns to me. “Ready?” “Yeah.” Libby Thorn moves in for another hug. “Breakfast was delicious, especially the beignets.” “So glad you enjoyed it.” Neither of us say anything as we walk to Wren’s car. Her door barely shuts when she turns to face me, her eyes piercing mine. “He’s not my boyfriend.” “But he’s something to you.” And I hate that. “We’ve gone out a couple of times since Birmingham.” She averts her eyes after that comment. I should have contacted her. Shit. “You didn’t hear from me. I get it. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have gone out with him. But I don’t have to be happy about it. And I’m not.” There. I said it. “I canceled with him last night so I could be with you.” So had I not been here she would have been with him. She canceled but that only makes me feel like I won her for the night. He can have her back after I’m gone. “Have you fucked him?” I’ll be sick if she says yes. At that she tears her eyes away from the windshield to look at me. By the sharp intake of breath and raise of her eyebrows, I can tell she isn’t happy I asked that, but I have to know. She doesn’t seem angry though. She tilts her head to the side as if to find a way to read my intention or something. Is she wondering the same about me for the month we’ve been apart? “No.” Good. I want to keep it that way. “It may be selfish and none of my business but that makes me happy.” I glide

my fingers over and curl them so they’re wrapped around her hand. “And I really want to kiss the fuck out of you right now.” Might as well tell her how I feel about it if I’m to keep her out of his bed. “I haven’t fucked him and I don’t plan to. So can we drop this?” This girl does not back down from challenges. Her pledge satisfies me. For now. Her strength turns me on. “Yeah.” “Good. Any idea what you’d like to see in Savannah today?” Sure do. “You in my bed naked.” Wren shakes her head while giggling. “You’ve already seen that once today.” “I could go for some more of it.” Like all day long. I’m growing hard thinking about it. “You’ll get more of me tonight—the after-drinks me. That should be fun.” “I like the before- and after-drinks you.” And the in-between. Wren pulls onto the road. “I think we’ll skip The Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. You’ve probably seen St. Louis Cathedral a bazillion times so it probably wouldn’t feel much different.” “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen it. Although it’s been a while.” I need to make a trip home to see my grandparents soon. I’ve already lost one grandparent. Babette and Pops aren’t getting any younger. “Would you be terribly upset if I cheated and took you on the historic on/off bus tour. I think it would be more fun than getting in and out of my car all day. And I’d like to enjoy sitting and talking with you rather than driving around the city squares.” “Excellent idea.” “We can hop off the bus if something interests you and get back on when we finish.” I rub my thumb over the top of her hand. “I have the only attraction I need sitting next to me right now.” “I believe you may be using your southern charm to woo me.” “Is it working?” “Definitely.” Wren parks at the welcome center and we board a trolley bound for historic Savannah. “I’m surprised by how much it reminds me of New Orleans. I wasn’t expecting that.” “New Orleans isn’t a whole lot older than Savannah. Maybe fifteen years or so but we don’t have the melting pot of cultures like you.” “Which are still very much alive. Your belief in the effects of oils, herbs, and stones would be accepted there.” “Being an oddity doesn’t bother me. I don’t need to be accepted by closedminded people to be happy.” No shit. “I gathered that.” I reach for her hand and intertwine our fingers. “Where do things stand with

your biological mother and the transplant?” “I told her I wasn’t doing it. She called every day for a week begging me to go through with it. Things got heated so I had to stop answering the phone.” “That’s harassment.” “She doesn’t care if it kills my chances at having a baby one day. She told me I could adopt a kid if I wanted one.” Based on the things she’s told me about her mother, I’m not surprised. I don’t like this woman at all. She’s harassing and selfish. Doesn’t sound like much has changed since Wren was a child. “You need to take out a formal restraining order.” “I’m considering it.” Wren moves our clasped hands to her lap and places her other on top. “I’m not sure she’s actually dying. I don’t think someone who is as sick as she claims to be would have the strength to bother me as much as she does.” “You think she’s okay?” “I suspect she may want the transplant so she doesn’t have to keep going to dialysis. I think it’s a hassle for her, and she’s tired of messing with it.” “You think she’d ask you to sacrifice that much so she’d no longer be inconvenienced?” That’s shitty. “The more I’ve thought about it, I think she’d do that. I mean, I believe she’s in renal failure and a candidate for transplant but not knocking on death’s door like she says. I think that was all a guilt trip to make me agree to do it. She knows I live by the laws of attraction so she’s trying to use my beliefs to benefit herself.” “Sounds like you’re listening to what your gut is saying.” “Having her in my life again has triggered a lot of bad memories from my childhood. I just want her out.” I’m happy to see she’s changed her tune about considering the transplant. The trolley comes to a halt. “This is your stop for Forsyth Park,” the driver announces over the speaker. “Let’s get off here so you can see the fountain. It’s an iconic symbol of Savannah so it’d be a shame for you to miss it.” Wren laces her fingers through mine after we exit the trolley. “I don’t really know a lot about you. Who is Lucas Broussard outside of the brewery?” “I love the outdoors. I hunt, fish, go boating. Things you probably consider manly.” I’m not sure how Wren will feel about me hunting, considering she’s vegan. “What kind of hunting?” “Mostly deer.” She crinkles her nose. “You eat those sweet creatures?” “Yeah. Deer is delicious.” She puts her hand over her heart. “You shoot them?” “Sometimes. I use a rifle or bow depending on the season.” “Ahh, poor Bambi.” She closes her eyes and shivers. “Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

“What do you like to do when you’re not at the shop?” “I’m crafty so I enjoy making a lot of the items I sell: jewelry, dream catchers, refinish old furniture so it has purpose instead of a place at the dump.” I notice the necklace, bracelet, and earrings she’s wearing. “Did you make these?” She touches the stone hanging around her neck. “I did.” “It’s beautiful.” “Peridot. I chose it for today because it restores new energy to the body. I needed it pretty badly after last night.” So, she knew as she packed last night she’d get little sleep. Like. That. “I could a use a little energy restoration myself.” It was a long night. And early morning. But oh so good. And I plan to do it again.

Lawrence Thorn

OLLIE’S WAITING WHEN BROU AND I ARRIVE AT THE DISTILLERY. “HEY. HOW’D THE TOUR GO?” “We did Forsyth, the squares, a quick visit to city market, and Leopold’s.” Those are most of my favorite things, specifically the ice cream parlor. I especially enjoyed watching Brou lick his cone while telling me he was practicing for tonight. Lucky, lucky ice cream. The look in his eyes . . . the movement of his tongue . . . made me quiver and become wet. Just from licking an ice cream. Because I know just how good that tongue is. Shit. Not helping thinking about that in front of my brother. “That’s good. You got a lot done.” A waitress places a glass and bottle of beer in front of each of us. “Unpoured, as requested.” Ollie displays a charming grin for the cute brunette. “Thank you, Casey.” He pours each of us a sample and then begins the steps of evaluation. “Gives good head?” I watch Brou for a reaction. A single brow lifts and one side of his mouth pulls upward as he tugs on his beard at the chin. That mouth. That beard. Both were all over me last night. And this morning. I can’t wait until they are again. “It’s decent at best,” Ollie answers before taking the first drink. “Personal preference, I’m not a fan. What do y’all think?” I take a drink and wait for the aftertaste. I shake my head briskly when it hits. “Shit, that is hoppy.” “Don’t care for it,” Brou says. Ollie grabs the second bottle. “Moving on.” We go through a dozen craft beers in an hour, which may not be much for them but it’s a lot for me. More than I’m accustomed to drinking. I’m feeling no pain. I’ve made two bathroom runs by the time Brou finally gives in and makes his first. I’m sort of glad. I want some alone time with Ollie so I can pick his brain. I want to know if he would truly have a problem with me dating his business partner. “So . . . Lucas. He’s a pretty nice guy, right?” He nods and takes another drink of beer before scrunching his nose. “Whew,

that’s skunky.” He pushes the glass away. “Yeah. He’s a good friend.” “We had fun today.” “I’m glad. I was a little afraid you might be pissed at me for asking you to show him around without talking to you first.” “That was fine. I didn’t mind at all.” He looks at me for a moment before saying, “He was behaved, I hope.” “Yeah. But I guess he would be since you told him I was off limits.” Seems a good time to bring that up. “I did that to protect you.” I’m thirty-one years old. I do just fine on my own. “I don’t need my little brother protecting me.” “Every woman needs protecting from Tap.” I’m probably going to regret asking this question. “Where did that name come from?” The corners of Ollie’s mouth curl. “It’s a double meaning. He loves beer on tap. But he loves tapping ass more.” I’m not the least bit surprised. It’s just as I expected. “Tell me what man doesn’t.” I know my brother is no saint. He need not pretend he is. “Well, he likes it a little more than most.” “I find that hard to believe.” “Listen, sis. Tap is a great guy but he screws over a lot of women. He has an MO. Fuck a woman and then have nothing more to do with her. Happens all the time but it doesn’t always go over well. I’ve had to handle more than one scorned woman showing up at the brewery.” We’ve fucked and it seems like he wants a lot more to do with me. I’m seriously about to send my brother into orbit but I need to know if a romance between Brou and me would be a problem in their business relationship. “I like him.” “Don’t you dare even think about going there, Lawry.” Uh oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that. “Why not?” “Because I’d have to kill him if he fucked you over. Which he would. Trust me, Lawry. No woman is safe with him.” “He wouldn’t mistreat me.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that either. Makes me sound like an authority on the matter. “Because I wouldn’t let him.” “I bet the other thousand women he’s fucked and dumped said the same thing.” Okay. Maybe Brou was right about Ollie’s feelings, regarding a relationship between us. It’s probably best to back off before I stir too much of a stink. “I was just curious to see what you’d say. I’m not going to ask him out or anything.” “Good. Lucas Broussard’s not for you.” I don’t want Brou to catch hell from Ollie over me so it’s best to keep this secret. I’m not a fan of that but I think it’s best

under these conditions. Who knows? This thing may not be going anywhere anyway. I say nothing more because I see Brou on his way back to the table. “What’d I miss?” “Horse piss. That’s what you’ve missed.” Ollie pours a sample of an IPA. “Tell me that’s not horrible.” Brou lifts the glass of amber and gulps it in one drink. “Horse piss is being generous.” This tasting has been for naught so far. “You’re trying to choose a brew for next winter?” “Right.” “People crave heavier, warmer, deeper flavors when it’s cold. Have you considered a chocolate stout or maybe some type of coffee beer?” Ollie and Brou look at one another and grin. “Damn. That’s not a bad idea, sis.” Brou punches me in the arm like I’m one of the guys. “Wren may be onto something.” Ollie’s head spins in Brou’s direction. “Wren? When did you give my sister a nickname?” “Well, umm,” Brou stutters. He needs saving. “It’s cute, right? Ava gave it to me. It was easier for her to say than Lawrence.” Brou looks at me with wide eyes. “Yeah, I guess it stuck in my head.” “Wren. I like it,” Ollie says. He drops my nickname and we finish off the last of our sampler. “I’m going to talk this chocolate stout and coffee beer option over with Porter and let him weigh in. If he likes the idea as much as us, we might give it a go.” I fist my hands and use my thumbs to point to myself. “It was my idea so I think you should name it after me.” “We’ll see.” That sounds like a no. We leave The Distillery and stand as a trio on the sidewalk. “I’m about tight so I’m leaving my truck here and getting a ride to Mom and Dad’s.” I look up at the sky. “It’s a beautiful night. I think I’ll walk home.” “Only if Tap goes with you. I don’t want you out alone this late.” Silly, Ollie. Brou isn’t leaving my side. He is most definitely walking me home . . . and more. “I’m happy to walk her home. It’s the least I can do after the wonderful tour I got today.” Ollie makes a V with his fingers and points to his eyes before using them to point at Brou. As if I don’t know what that means. “I know,” Brou whispers. We wait on the corner for the car Ollie Ubered. “We’re doing Tybee tomorrow?” “Planning to if you’re up for it.” “My question would be are Ivy and Kelsey up for it?” “Kelsey is coming but Ivy has to work.” “Fuck, that’s too bad. I was hoping to see both of them. It’s been a while.” My

brother has always liked both of my friends but I suspect he likes Ivy just a little bit more. The last time we spoke about dating, he had a potential in mind. “What happened to Madeline, the counselor?” “Madison.” “Right. You were waiting for the right time to ask her out on a date.” “That didn’t go anywhere.” “Oh. Sorry to hear that.” He acted as though he really liked her. A small foreign sedan pulls to a stop in front of us. “That’s my ride. See y’all tomorrow.” Ollie does the my eyes are on you hand signal again before getting into the car. Brou laughs as the car pulls away. “He’d shit his pants if he knew what we’d done.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and lean close. “And what we’re about to do again.” “Shit, Wren. We have at least six blocks to walk and you’re giving me a hardon.” I kiss him quickly. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you when we get in the room.” We enter the boho hotel lobby and step into the elevator. Dammit. Why’d these people have to get on here with us? We’re enclosed with another couple in the small space for only a minute or so, but the radiating sexual tension is suffocating. I want him so badly, it hurts. I need to touch him, to feel his skin against mine. The elevator pings and the doors open for our floor. “It’s too bad we had company on the ride up. I really wanted to be naughty in that elevator.” Brou grabs me from behind and pushes my hair away from my neck. The touch of his lips against the skin there sends chills down my body where a tingle lands smack between my legs. “We can be naughty in the hallway.” He passes the keycard to me over my shoulder so he can explore my body with his mouth and hands. I work to slide the card into the door but it’s a difficult task with what Brou is doing to me. He shimmies my dress up my legs and slides his hand beneath it. He wastes no time pushing my panties aside so his fingers can dive into my slick center. “Fuck, yes. You’re already wet.” I get the green light on the door but I’m unable to move while he finger-fucks me. “That feels so good.” “I’ve got something for you that’s gonna feel a lot better.” “I’m going to come before we get through the door if you don’t stop.” He takes his fingers out of me and I suppress a whimper. “No. I wanna lick you ’til you come so I can taste your sweet climax.” Yes, please, and thank you. He leads me to the bed. “Sit.” I take my messenger bag off my shoulder and toss it in the corner chair before taking the place he has chosen for me.

He drops to his knees and kneels between my legs before dragging my bottom so it hangs over the edge. He removes my flip-flops and places the soles of my feet on his chest. “Lift up.” He reaches beneath my dress and drags my cotton hipster panties down my legs. He fists the garment and brings it to his nose to inhale deeply. Note to self: buy sexy panties so you’ll be prepared if you ever get to see him again after this visit. “You smell so fucking good. Now to taste you.” Oh, shit. That’s hot. All of it. He drops my panties to the floor and grabs my thighs, pushing them back and apart. My upper body is propped on my elbows and I have no intention of changing that. I’m watching this time. Our eyes—different shades of blue—are locked when he places his tongue against my center and drags it in an upward sweep. Feeling it is one thing but feeling and seeing it happen is a double treat. Lucky, lucky me. He licks me a second time. Slow. Soft. So good I want to scream. “Like that?” “Omigod, you have no idea how good you are at that.” Or maybe he does, according to my brother. I don’t care. It’s just him and me right now. He licks me with his flattened tongue and then changes his method, using the tip to circle the place where all my erotic nerve endings meet. He starts slow and gradually increases the speed of the circular motion. Erotic massage. He stops to suck my clitoris into his mouth and I nearly die. But then he glides two fingers inside me, palm side up. Oh, shit. He’s rubbing that sensitive area hiding beneath the arch of my pelvic bone. It’s been waiting for a man like Brou. The clit suck. The G-spot massage. The combination of the two send me into orbit. My body innately jolts with the first contraction in my pelvis. My legs tense, my toes curl. Tingly warmth floods my face, neck, hands, and feet as I ride out my orgasm to its fullest extent. Brou takes his fingers and mouth away when my body goes limp. Ultimate sexual gratification has been achieved. “You taste so good when you come.” He runs his fingertip down my neck and chest. “The orgasmic flush. Always a good sign.” I fall back on the bed, my legs propped on Brou’s chest. They’re trembling so he places his hands on my knees to steady them. “That good, huh?” “Unbelievable.” He has been so generous with his oral gifts. I think I should return the favor. I rise to a sitting position and go to work on unbuttoning his jeans. “You get your shirt while I work on these.” “Yes, ma’am.” Shirt gone, jeans and boxer briefs pushed down his legs so he can kick out of them. Time for me to get out of this dress. I could shove him on the bed and crawl over him to suck him off but I think every guy loves the visual of a girl on her knees. So I’m going to give that to him. I sink to the floor and look up at him. “I’m not sure you’ve ever been given a

proper blow job. I think you need one.” He laces his hand through the back of my hair. “Yes, ma’am.” I start by licking his long, thick cock from base to tip. I grasp it in my hand and watch his eyes when I drag my tongue across the tip from side to side. I taste precum. I lick my lips and swallow before sucking him fully into my mouth, taking him in to the back of my throat. “Oh, Wren. That feels amazing.” He holds the back of my head and lightly thrusts each time I bring my mouth down to suck him in again. “I’m not going to last like this.” Good. Because I need him inside me very soon. My skin tingles from the sensation of pleasuring him. Giving head hasn’t always been something I’ve liked doing, but with Brou, with his moans of satisfaction, I’m dripping. Dying to have him inside me. I grasp his ass and hold him tightly as his hot stream hits the back of my throat. I swallow quickly and lick him one last time before he grabs my hands and helps me stand. He leans down so we’re almost eye to eye when he grasps my face. “I can’t even tell you how incredible that was. You exceed every expectation I have.” I love hearing his praise, knowing I’m the one who’s pleased him. I want to please him. Me. Not the stick-skinny girl with breast implants wearing black lacy lingerie. And I want to do it more than this sex-filled weekend only. I don’t normally feel insecure, but despite trying to rein the thoughts in, Ollie’s words have left a slight imprint. I bet the other thousand women he’s fucked and dumped said the same thing. Has he used these same words with other women? Am I simply another way to pass the time for him? Scratch his itch? “When I came to see you, I didn’t know it was going to be like this.” Did he not have to come to Savannah with Ollie? Was it partially, or completely, his choice so he could see me? “Like what?” I want, and somehow need to hear him say it. “So good I never want it to end.” So good I never want it to end. I don’t want it to end either.

Lucas Broussard

SHIT. I’VE NEVER SAID ANYTHING LIKE THAT TO A WOMAN. EVER. I’m sick with the thought of leaving her on Monday. That isn’t what this was supposed to be. So good I never want it to end. I squeeze my eyes shut as I brace myself for her response. But she says nothing. Instead, she turns us around, sits on the bed, and moves to the center. I have feelings for this girl. Very real ones. And it scares the hell out of me. I crawl over her and lower my mouth to her rosy pink nipple. I love sucking these, and they get hard. But I love tugging them with my teeth too. She puts her hand behind my head and pulls me closer as she arches her back from the bed. “Ohh, Brou.” I move lower to kiss her stomach and rub my hand over her lower abdomen. She’ll one day carry another man’s baby right here. I don’t care for that thought at all. She lifts her head to look at me. “Is something wrong?” “I’m being stupid and thinking about things I can’t control.” “Tell me.” I shake my head. I don’t want anything to stand in the way of me being inside her. “It’s nothing,” I whisper as I move to settle my body between her legs so we’re face to face. She grabs me behind my neck and brings my mouth down to hers. Her kiss is soft. Slow. Sweet. Our mouths are still touching when she speaks, so I feel the movement of her lips against mine. “Make love to me this time.” My cock is right there. One thrust and I could be inside her. It sucks so fucking bad I have to stop to get protection. “Let me grab a condom first.” Fucking mood killer. I dress out in latex and nestle myself between her legs again. She brings them up and parts them wide for me to get closer. I’m hard and she’s drenched. Perfect combination.

She lifts her hips, coaxing my tip inside. She rocks her hips harder and it’s all the invitation I need to slide my remaining length into her. Oh, fuck! This is deep and she feels so good. I keep things slow. I want this to go on forever and ever. My hands find hers and bring them above her head where our fingers weave together tightly. She opens her eyes and they watch mine as I move above her. It feels like our souls are meeting and . . . something is happening. I can’t give it a name. But I like it. Sex up until now has been all about release, sexual gratification. Have I looked into a woman’s eyes and seen this level of focus before? Desire? Make love to me this time. Can I do that? Don’t you have to be in love to make love? But she feels so fucking good. In and out, hot meets hot, my balls slap against her despite going slower, and it is all I can do to stop from exploding straight away. The noises she makes, the soft pants, the way her eyelids flutter closed as if the effort required to hold them open is too hard. And, that makes me feel good. She feels good. So good I never want it to end. I groan as I squeeze her hands and thrust one last time, coming into the condom inside her. Her legs wrap around my waist with ankles crossed behind my back. That’s it. Bring me closer until there isn’t a bit of space between us. Fuck, I wish I were coming inside her without this tight ass balloon wrapped around my dick. I pull out and roll to my side so I can get the damn thing off and drop it in the trashcan. “Sorry. I know those things are mood killers.” “It is what it is. Can’t be helped.” I scoot close and lie on my back, pulling Wren against my chest. I rub my hand up and down her arm and discover she’s cold. “Here, baby. Get under the covers with me.” I kiss the top of her head, hold her tightly, and think. That wasn’t simply sex. We connected. I’m not equipped to deal with this; it’s not something I’m accustomed to doing. I have no idea what to say or do now. I only know holding her feels right. My mouth is motionless but my mind is not. It’s racing with a million thoughts as I try to make sense of what just occurred. And try to predict what will happen Monday morning when I leave her. We lie in each other’s arms, saying nothing. And that’s how we fall asleep.

IT’S OUR LAST DAY TOGETHER, AT LEAST ON THIS VISIT. I SAY THAT IN MY HEAD LIKE THERE’LL BE MORE IN the future. But what if there isn’t? What if this is it for us? Please don’t let this be the end. As the thought goes through my head, I’m not sure who I’m asking. God? Me? Her? I want to talk about this, tell Wren how I feel, and I’m not waiting until the morning I leave. I snuggle up to her naked body and wrap my arms around her from behind. “Are you awake?” She stretches, arches her back, and moans. Damn, that’s sexy. “I am now.” My dick twitches alive but I try to convince him to settle. This isn’t about that. “Sorry. It’s almost time to get up and I wanted to talk first.” “O . . . kay.” She sounds hesitant. “I go home in the morning and I don’t want to have this conversation as I’m on the way out the door.” “What conversation would that be?” This is it. I’m going in headfirst. “The one where we decide what this is and where it’s going.” “Oh. That’s a scary discussion.” No shit. “It is but I still want to have it. “I assume you’re bringing it up because you’ve been thinking about it.” Seems like it’s the only thing bouncing around in my fucking head. “Haven’t you?” “Of course.” I brought this up. I can’t do that and then ask her to be the one to show her cards first. “I don’t want this to be over.” “Which part?” “All of it.” I could totally blow everything with Wren by saying this but I’m going to anyway. “August was hell because you weren’t part of it. I don’t want to go through September without you in it.” “You want me for September?” Maybe I didn’t phrase that as well as I could. “How ’bout we start with September? See if it could be the beginning of something really good for us.” “First, tell me about the women in your life. The ones you fuck.” I guess I should have known she’d ask. “You’re the only woman I’m fucking.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Would that be the case when you leave me here and go back to Birmingham?”

I’ve slept around because it’s what I’ve wanted, not because I have a problem being monogamous. “If you wanted to be the only one, then you would be. But I would expect the same loyalty. No more dating restaurant dude. Or anyone else.” “Of course.” We need a plan if we’re going to make this work. “How often would we see each other?” “Six hours is a long trip. Could we pull it off every other weekend, alternating so we each drive it once a month?” Every other weekend doesn’t seem often enough. “Maybe sometimes we meet halfway so we don’t have to wait so long.” “That’s a good idea. A three-hour drive is far more manageable.” It’s breaking bro code but I can’t go into a relationship with Wren and not tell her about the texting thing. It could be disastrous for us if she found out I was the one texting her as Stout for a whole month. I came to love texting with Wren even if the words going to her weren’t perceived as those of Lucas Broussard. I could almost hear her voice and laughter in every message she sent. But I hated the lying part. Each text, or lie, became harder to send as the days passed. “I have something to tell you. I’m not sure how you’ll take it but I want to go into this with complete honesty.” She rolls over so she’s facing me. “I don’t like the sound of that.” “It’s not horrible. Or at least I hope you don’t think so.” “I’ll be the judge.” “Stout got into a tiny bit of trouble with the law. A DUI.” She puts her hand to the bridge of her nose and pinches. “Oh, lawdy.” “He worried it might reflect poorly on Lovibond if he were prosecuted. Per his attorney’s advice, he voluntarily entered an intense substance abuse clinic for a month to sway the judge to drop the charges. It was total overkill but he did it for Lovibond.” “And you didn’t want the guilt of keeping that secret from me?” I wish that were all it was. “There’s more. He didn’t want you to know so I agreed to take his phone for that month and correspond with you, as him, since he wasn’t allowed to bring it into the facility.” “When was this?” The shit is about to get deep. “I had been doing it for two weeks when you came to Birmingham during the beer festival.” “Well, you sucked at your job. Bad.” “I know. I was busy with preparations for the festival so I couldn’t respond to all your texts. The truth is you annoyed the hell out of me those first couple of weeks. But then you came to Birmingham and I was fucking taken with you.” I wasn’t lying when I said she had bewitched me. She had. “Those two weeks after I left, the time when you say you were bewitched by me, you texted me as him but never yourself?”

I wanted to so badly. “I had a warning from Stout to stay away from you. I tried like hell, but fuck me, I couldn’t do it anymore. So I came for you. I had to find out if there is something between us. And I believe there is. I think we could be really good together.” She rolls away from me. “I need a minute to digest this.” “Listen to me, Wren. I didn’t know you when I agreed to do it. You were a faceless name. I was already committed to deceiving you when we met.” She puts her hand to her face to cover it. “I feel sort of stupid thinking back on the texts I sent to Ollie about you. You knew I liked you. Shit, that I wanted you to kiss me.” I grasp her hand and take it from her face. “And reading those words thrilled me beyond anything you can imagine. It’s why I came back that night. To kiss you. I felt exactly the same as you, Wren, but wasn’t sure I could follow through on what I wanted.” “A whole month. And half of it happened after we met. After we had almost sex. That’s a pretty big deception. And it makes me wonder what other lies you’ve told.” Okay. Fair enough. “I have lied to you but only when it was required to keep Stout’s secret. Everything else is the truth. I swear that to you.” “Why was he so adamant to keep me from knowing about the DUI?” “He was ashamed but mostly he didn’t want to disappoint you. And I think he was afraid you’d hear the words substance abuse and freak out thinking he was some kind of addict like your birth parents.” “Ollie obviously didn’t give you permission to tell me this.” I hate all the deceit. Not only in the text messages, but in all the things I’ve withheld from Stout and Lawrence. That is not me. “No, and I’d be very grateful if you didn’t mention it, no matter how mad you are at him or me.” I don’t want to lie to Stout, even by omission, but I don’t need him to have grievance with me right now. Not while Wren and I are so new. Prior to meeting the Thorns, Lawrence was treated like shit, and that’s probably why she seems to hold people at arm’s length until she trusts them. I want her trust. I want her in my life, but I value Stout’s friendship and our work relationship as well. As much as I don’t like asking her to keep anything from her brother, I need to work on us now. She’s quiet for a moment, and I adore that she isn’t simply throwing me out on my ass for deceiving her. This could be it, and fuck if I don’t hate putting us both in this position. But it could cause trouble later. And I want to start things with a clean slate. Finally, she looks up at me with her beautiful blue eyes, and I think I see forgiveness and understanding in her expression. Her eyebrows rise, and a small smile graces her lips. “You could have kept this from me. I would have likely never found out unless something slipped.” “I couldn’t chance you finding out a year from now and it causing trouble with us.”

She twists to look at me. “A year from now, huh?” “Maybe. It could happen.” Wren moves over me, one knee on each side of my hips. She sucks my earlobe into her mouth and gently bites it. “Just for that, you’re about to get the best morning sex ever.” I'm scared as hell to want this woman. But here I am, wanting her in the bluntest of ways. Her mouth and hands are all over me. My cock inside her. “Something tells me I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of this.”

WREN LOOKS HOT AS HELL IN HER SWIMSUIT. HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO KEEP MY EYES OFF HER? GOOD thing I’m wearing dark shades. I’ve hopped from one deception to another. I hate that. I wish Stout could be open-minded about Wren and me. I’m ready to tell him everything but Wren insists it’s a good idea to keep things on the down-low for now. I guess she’s right. No need to stir a stink if things don’t work out for us. But I’m really hoping they do. I plan on giving it my all. That’s how much I like her. Stout elbows me as we follow Wren and Kelsey to the beach. “Damn, look at that ass on Kelsey. I’d love to sink my teeth into it.” Wren stops and turns, giving Stout the evil eye. “Shut up, jerk face. She could hear you.” “She’s not going to hear me.” “I did, you big dummy.” We find a spot on the beach and the girls help us set up our stuff. “Not very crowded today,” Stout says. “It’s getting late in the summer for vacationers. I’m already seeing a decline in tourists coming into the shop.” I hadn’t considered Wren’s boutique being seasonal because of vacationers but it makes sense. She peers at me over her glasses. “Maybe I can make some more trips to Birmingham since things are slowing down.” Yes. I would like that very much. “I enjoy Tybee more when it’s not crowded.” Kelsey flips the top on the cooler. “Still hot as hell though. Who wants a brewski?” “Me,” we say in a trio. Kelsey does the distributing. I get a Pale Hazel while Wren ends up with an IPA.

“You take this one since it’s your favorite. I’ll take the India Pale.” “Thank you, Lucas. That’s sweet.” Stout looks at us as we make the swap. “Well, that was just fucking beautiful. I think the two of you could bring world peace.” “Shut up. I’m being a gentleman.” While you’re being a jackass. “Dude, you pretend to be a gentleman when you’re after a piece of ass.” He points at Wren and Kelsey. “You ain’t gettin’ none from either of them.” I can’t help but gloat about our secret, thankful I am getting some of that. A very hot piece of that. “All this bullshit about me being some kind of manwhore is getting old. I haven’t fucked around in a while.” “What’s a while?” Stout asks. Wren leans up and looks at me. She wants to hear my answer. I met her almost five weeks ago. I guess it was probably a couple of weeks before that. “Going on two months.” “Any particular reason?” Wren is still looking at me, interested in my discussion with Stout. “There’s a very special reason.” I’m in danger of grinning at Wren, and blowing our secret, so I look away. “Finally catch something?” Stout chuckles. I’m certain I’ve caught a bad case of infatuation. “I’ve found someone.” “You find lots of someones.” “No. I’ve found one someone. And I really like her. I don’t want to mess things up.” Stout slides his glasses down his nose for an unobstructed view. “You are shittin’ me.” “I’m not.” “Who is she?” “I’m keeping that to myself until we decide to go public.” Kelsey sighs. “Oh my God. A secret love affair. That is so romantic.” Wren is wearing her sunglasses so I can’t see her eyes. I wish I could though. “That is very romantic, Lucas. She’s a lucky girl.” “This beats any damn thing I’ve ever seen. Lucas Broussard is contemplating settling down.” “I think I could for this girl.” I really do.

Lawrence Thorn

“I WAS GOING TO ASK YOU WHAT YOU THOUGHT ABOUT ME MAKING A PLAY FOR LUCAS BUT I GUESS THAT’S a no-go since the good-looking Cajun is already in love.” “I’m not sure he said he was in love.” “Sure as hell sounded like it to me.” Kelsey is one of my closest friends and I’ve not mentioned a word to her about my fling with Brou. I saw no reason to after Birmingham because nothing panned out. But now, we’ve made this agreement to try things. I’m dying to tell her what’s been happening between us. I look at Brou sitting in his lounger on the beach. “He is very good-looking, isn’t he?” “Hell, yeah. And that accent is almost enough to put me on my back.” She can forget getting on her back for him. He’s mine. “I know the woman he’s talking about.” “Lucky bitch, right?” “Yes. I am.” Kelsey slaps her hand along the top of the water, sending saltwater into my mouth and eyes. “Whudda fugue, Lawry? Spill it. How did this come about?” “I met him when I went to Birmingham for the sneak attack on Ollie.” She splashes me again. “That was a while ago, hooker. Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?” “We met and had this crazy, instant attraction. We both felt it but knew it might cause business trouble between him and Ollie. I was bummed but I understood and didn’t want to be the reason for a fallout.” “Understandable but obviously it didn’t end there.” “He came to Ollie’s apartment the next day and the attraction was freaking insane. We couldn’t fight the pull.” We were like a magnet and steel. Kelsey growls. “You fucked that delicious bearded man and didn’t tell me?” “We didn’t get that far. Ollie came in on us. Five minutes later and he would have probably caught us in the act.” I close my eyes and scrunch my nose as I suppress a squeal. “Gah, cockblocked by my own brother.”

“And yet the story still doesn’t end there.” “I left and we didn’t talk or text all month. I decided he wasn’t into me but then, bam. He shows up out of the blue at the shop on Friday night.” “When you were supposed to go out with Lee after closing?” “Yeah. I canceled.” “Of course you did.” I bob up and down in the water wetting my shoulders so I can cool off. “We’ve been together every minute since he arrived.” Kelsey looks over the top of her glasses. “And every night?” “Oh . . . yeah.” “I need deets.” “I’m crazy about him.” “Aww . . . are you in love with him?” I can’t believe she’s asking me that. She knows I don’t go around falling in love. “I’m in lust with him.” She lifts a brow at me. “And?” “Okay. I like him. A lot.” My heart races as I hear my voice admit that to someone beside myself. It feels like a wall is crumbling around me. It’s scary as hell but I like it. “I’ve never heard you say that about any man.” “I can’t explain what it is about him but he makes me feel safe.” Maybe because he’s Ollie’s friend and there’s an assumption, on my part, he won’t hurt me for fear of my brother killing him. “How fuckable is he?” “He’s out of this world, Kel. He makes sure I come, usually before him. And multiple times.” No man has ever done that for me. “So jelly.” She should be. Xavier was too rough and possessive. David was always high and would end up spacing out in the middle. Isaiah was a freak, always begging me to let him fuck me in the ass because he wanted to claim it. The other two were simply unimpressionable. But Brou is perfect. And it scares the hell out of me. I can’t stand the uncertainty of knowing I’m all in and he could decide to end this at anytime. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take. “He says I’ve bewitched him but I swear I’m the one who’s enchanted.” “And Stout doesn’t know?” I shake my head. “We opted to see where things go before we tell him. No need in causing a ruckus if we part in two weeks.” “But you’d love to see this be successful. I can see it all over your face.” Am I that obvious? “I want this but it’s iffy from the start because we live so far apart. I don’t know how the long distance thing will go.” “All you can do is try it out and see.” I look in Brou’s direction on the beach again. “I’m giving him one hundred

percent.” There are so many layers to Brou, some very damaged. He says he never wants to marry again or have children. That’s fine for now. But we want different things. It could become a deal breaker for me in the future. “Here he comes. I’ll go flirt with Stout and keep him occupied so he doesn’t have time to notice you with Lucas.” “Push your boobs up. Ollie won’t even look our way if he’s staring at those.” Kelsey says something to Brou on her way out of the water but I’m unable to make out what it is. He’s wearing a large grin so there’s no telling what she said. “Kelsey has taken it upon herself to keep Ollie busy so he doesn’t pay attention to us.” “Maybe so, but I still can’t touch you the way I’d like. You can’t possibly know how hard it is to be with you today, especially while you’re wearing that bikini, and keep my hands to myself.” I trail my fingers down my chest and stomach until it disappears into the water. “I’ll let you touch me any way you want tonight.” His eyes follow my hand. “That’s so many hours away. And you’re making me hard right now. I may combust before then.” “Please don’t. Instead, think of how we can make this our best night since it’ll be the last for a while.” “I already know I’m not going to want to leave you in the morning.” “It’s going to kill me to watch you go. But who knows? Maybe being apart will make us better appreciate the time we have together.” “We’ll figure this out.” It is pure hell being so close to Brou without the freedom to act like the couple we’ve become. He’s mine and I want to behave as though he is. It feels wrong to not touch him when his skin calls out to me. Not hold his hand when it grazes mine. Not hug him when our shoulders brush. “Being in this water with you is killing me. We gotta get out.” Kelsey and Ollie look cozy sitting next to one another on the beach. “Hey, sis. I just got a text from Mom. She’s asking if we want to meet her and Dad at The Olde Pink House for dinner. One last Savannah hurrah for Tap before we go home.” Even if it’s known as a touristy attraction, I still love that place. “I can go.” “What about you, Kelsey?” “Thanks for the invite but I already have plans.” “Reservations for five,” Ollie says as he texts back. Too bad it won’t be a romantic table for two in the old bank vault room. Perhaps another time.

DINNER WITH BROU, OLLIE, AND MY PARENTS WAS BRUTAL. HE CONTINUALLY TOUCHED ME BENEATH THE table in one form or another. He was intentionally driving me crazy. What he doesn’t know about me is I can do the same in return. Makes me no difference if we’re in the back of a taxi. I put my palm on Brou’s thigh and glide it upward until I find the outline of his dick through his jeans. He leans over and presses his mouth to my ear. “Wrennn.” “What, Brou?” I brush my hand over his crotch and he instantly hardens. I love how my touch can do that to him. “You know what.” Yes, I do. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop. “You were merciless with me earlier.” “I brushed your leg. Your hand. This isn’t the same thing at all and you know it.” “I’m stepping it up.” “Shhhit.” I think I hear at least a dozen extra shs tacked on the beginning of that word. “I’m not going to be able to walk into the hotel if you don’t stop.” I suck his earlobe into my mouth. “I think you will. You want my mouth wrapped around your long . . . thick . . . hard . . . cock too bad to not make it. I bet there’ll be a drop of pre-cum on the tip waiting for me to lick it clean with my tongue.” “Fuck, Wren. You have a dirty mouth tonight.” We get out of the car and Brou adjusts himself in his jeans before we walk into the lobby. “Issue?” “A big one I’m going to need you to take care of soon.” I love being the fix for his problem. We’re barely through the room’s door when he hoists me over his shoulder. He tosses me in the center of the bed and slowly crawls up my body. “Tease me in the back of a cab, will you?” I rise and shove him to his back. I toss my leg over his hips so I’m straddling him. “And I’m not done yet.” He puts his hands behind his head. “Do what you gotta do.” I yank open the button on his jeans. The brass zip at his crotch opens wide as I lower the fastener. “Being confined in these jeans can’t be comfortable. I think they should come off.” He lifts his hips as I pull his pants down. “I like your thinking.” When his jeans and underwear become a thing of the past, he tugs his T-shirt over his head and slings it across the room. He’s completely naked when I back away to remove my dress but I steal a moment to look at him. Male beauty like his

should be appreciated. His hands have returned to a clasp behind his head, causing his biceps to bulge. His chest is smooth but a thin, dark happy trail begins below his belly button, leading to the treasure below. A full, thick dick waiting for me. I love it. I place my palms on his thighs and glide them upward until my fingertips brush his balls. I tease for a moment, lightly sweeping my fingers back and forth over the ridges of his skin. “Haven’t I had enough teasing?” “Never.” I grasp the base of his cock and circle my tongue around the head. The stiff tip flicks once, twice, three times before I take him fully into my mouth. “That feels so fucking good.” He puts his hands in my hair and pulls all of it into a high ponytail using his fist. “I love watching my cock slide in and out of your hot mouth.” I’m not the only one talking dirty tonight. Let’s see if he likes this. I take him out of my mouth and anchor his dick against his stomach. My tongue starts at the base of his balls and I lick the pleasure trail running top to bottom along his scrotum. I’ve heard men love it when you lick that seam separating their balls and suck the loose skin into your mouth. The suction is supposed to bring the blood and pleasure receptors to the surface. “Fuck!” he groans. Yup. I think it could be true; he sounds very pleased. I release the suction and look up at him. “You like that, huh?” “Yeah. A whole fucking lot. Feel free to do that any time you like.” It’s all about understanding the body and how to pleasure it. “I have more for you.” “Shhhit.” He could pass for a bear with the deep growl exploding behind that word. “I don’t know how you could top what you’re already doing.” “Let’s see if I can.” I take his cock into my mouth and massage his balls for a moment before finding the magic place under his sac with my finger. I press it firmly and then rotate in a circular motion. Slow, and then fast. Soft, and then hard. “Ohh . . .” I taste the salt and swallow. That happened fast. “Holy shit, Wren. What the fuck was that?” “Good?” “No, great. And . . . different.” “I thought you needed a little bit of massage to help you come harder.” “That was like a fucking explosion.” He grasps the back of my head. “Come ’ere.” He flips us and crawls over me. He possesses my mouth softly, slowly. “I’m going to take you all night long—over and over until we’re so physically drained, it isn’t possible to do it again.” “I hope I can’t walk tomorrow.” His mouth hovers over my ear. The warmth of his breath sends chills down my

body. “Say you’re mine.” “I’m yours.” He presses his forehead to mine, our eyes locked. “Look at me when you say it. And use my whole name.” I hold the sides of his face. “Lucasss?” I smile when I realize I’m sleeping with this man and don’t even know his middle name. Nice one, Lawrence. “Emeric.” Never heard that name before. I love it. “Lucas Emeric Broussard. I. Am. Yours.” His lips touch mine briefly before he pulls away to reach for a condom. I touch his forearm when he puts the square to his lips to tear it open. “Don’t.” “Don’t?” I take the condom from his hand and toss it to the floor. I’m offering myself to him. All of me. I’ve never done that. But I like the way it feels to let go. Make myself vulnerable to him. Trust him. “I’m yours. Fully.” Despite his past, I trust Brou. He won’t take me without protection if it’s not safe. “I’m clean but are you sure you want to do that?” I want to feel him with nothing between us. If that’s crazy, then it just is. “One hundred percent. And you don’t have to worry. I’m clean too.” He pushes stray hair from my face. “I know you are, baby. I’m not worried.” Brou positions his tip at my entrance and I wrap my legs around his waist. He slowly pushes himself inside me and groans. “Ohh, you feel so good.” He moves slowly. Sweetly. Deliberately. My arms are pushed over my head and his hands find mine. He laces our fingers together and squeezes. “This is where I want to be. With you. Inside you. Every day.” I tighten my legs as he pumps slowly. He releases one of my hands so he can touch me between my legs. Two fingertips are circling the top of my slit. It’s fucking fantastic. “Does that feel good?” I adjust my hips so my G-spot gets in on a little more of the action. “So good.” “I want you to come with me.” “Keep that up and I will. Real soon.” He’s gripping my hand tighter. His breath is faster and heavier against my neck. He’s getting close. The tension inside my lower body builds and an onset of rhythmic contractions begin. “Ohh . . . it’s starting.” “I feel it. You’re . . . squeezing me.” My climax is the onset of his. He unlaces our fingers and moves his hand to the top of my head to hold me in place. He thrusts deeply and I come hard around him. A moment later, his body goes lax and I know he’s empty. His semen has nothing swimming in it, but still, I like knowing a part of him is inside me. No condom. Nothing between us.

Yes. It feels different. Both physically and emotionally. I think I could easily fall in love with this man. Maybe I’m already halfway there.

Lucas Broussard

WE GOT ONE HOUR OF SLEEP ALL NIGHT. NOT A MINUTE MORE. I take one last look around the room to make sure I have all my things. “It’s time for me to go down to the lobby.” “Ollie’s always late.” “Typically, yes, but he texted to let me know he’ll be here in five minutes.” “Nooo,” she groans as her chest lands against mine. “I don’t want you to go.” I wrap her in a tight embrace. “I know. I don’t want to leave you either.” “I’m happy in this little cocoon we’ve created.” I pull away so I can see her eyes. They’re filled with tears. “I’m happy being inside it with you. More than I thought possible.” I place a soft kiss on her lips before pressing my forehead to hers. “It’s two weeks. We can do this.” “I know but it feels like forever.” It does but I need to keep this positive. “It’ll be here before we know it.” She shakes her head and clutches the sleeves of my shirt. “I have to go, baby. We can’t risk him coming up to the room because I’m not down there.” She sniffles. “I know.” We hug tightly one last time. “I will see you in two weeks.” “Eleven days,” she corrects. “Even better.” I grab my bag and go to the door. “Brou?” I turn at the sound of my name. Fuck. How am I supposed to walk out the door now? Wren is standing with the hotel robe spread wide open, naked beneath it. “A visual to remember me by until we’re together again.” I wish I could take a picture. But since I can’t, I will etch the image into my brain. “I will think of it often.” “This belongs to you. No one else. Don’t forget that.” “I won’t, baby. Swear.” The elevator ride is one of the toughest ever. I want so badly to go back to her

but I don’t; it’ll only prolong the inevitable and put us at risk of being discovered by Stout. We are parting ways today whether we want to or not. Stout is waiting for me when I exit the hotel. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t go back for that quickie I was contemplating. “Hey, man. Ready to hit the road?” “Yeah.” No. We aren’t ten minutes from the hotel when I decide to text Wren. Already counting the hours until we’re together again. I’ve never sent a message like that. But that’s because I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Me too. I’m lying in bed hugging your pillow because it smells like you. I stole a pair of your panties so I’d have something that smelled like you. I won’t be washing them. So do not want to forget her essence. I may carry them in my pocket for easy access and sleep with them on my face. You’ll find one of your T-shirts missing when you unpack. I plan to wear it to bed every night. I won’t be washing it either. I’m jealous that shirt will be hugging her body instead of me. I want a pic of you in it tonight. No bra. Maybe you’ll get a pic with no bra, no shirt. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? You can’t tease a guy like that. Who says I’m teasing? Fuck. You are so hot. I can’t wait. “Texting your girl?”

“Yeah.” “I’ve never seen you be secretive about a woman. Is she married?” “No, jackass.” Stout is my friend but he really thinks I’m a dick when it comes to women. I need to change that opinion, and soon, if Wren and I are to have a successful go at this relationship. “It’s still very new. We want to get used to the idea before telling everyone we’re together.” Stout slaps the steering wheel. “Fuck, it’s somebody at Lovibond, isn’t it?” “No. She doesn’t work for us.” “How long have you known her?” “We met at the festival.” I need to be careful to not give too much away. “You’ve been fucking this chick for over a month?” We’re not just fucking. And she’s not a random chick. “It’s not like that. We met at the festival but didn’t talk or see each other until later.” “How do you feel about her?” “We’ve not been a couple for long but I really like her a lot.” “You see this relationship turning into something more?” “I think it could.” I hope it does. “Does she know you were married? And in an open marriage?” “I’ve told her everything. Even introduced her to Bridgette.” “Dude. Girlfriend meets ex-wife. That’s serious.” Wren wasn’t my girlfriend when they met so I can’t really take credit for making it happen. “I think I’ve misjudged you, Tap.” This could be a turn in the right direction. “I’m not shitting you. This girl has turned me into a one-woman kind of man. No other woman has been worth looking at or thinking about since I met her.” “I think Porter and I are going to have to change your nickname from Tap to something different. Hmm. I think Whipped has a special ring to it.” “Fucking hilarious.” Stout can make fun of me all he likes. As long as, when the time comes, he understands how much I care for Wren.

AVA RUNS INTO MY ARMS. “HELLO, MY SWEET BEBELLE.” She presses her precious cheek to mine. “Unky Bou, where you been?” “I was in Georgia visiting my friend, Wren. Do you remember her?” “Yesss. What behind yo’ back?” Busted. I hold out a gift bag with colorful tissue spilling out of the top. “Wren heard you

got a little brother so she sent you a big sister present.” “Yay.” Streaks of pink and lime green fly in all directions. “Mmm hmm.” Bridgette lifts a brow. “You were visiting Wren, huh?” “Sure was.” Did a lot more than that while I was there, too. “How long did you stay?” “Three days.” Ava holds her gift in the air. “Unky Bou, whut ’dis s’pose to be?” “Wren has a store where she sells very special things. She made this and it’s called a dream catcher. You hang it on your bed and it protects you from nightmares.” “I lub it.” “Ava honey, why don’t you go to your room and find a place for your dream catcher while I talk to Uncle Boudreaux?” “’Kay.” I’m not surprised Bridgette wants to have a powwow. “That was very nice of Wren to think of Ava.” “She’s probably the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met.” I point at the other bags. “There’s something for you and Tripp too. But I have to warn you. She’s into some weird stuff so there’s no telling what she sent you. You should probably expect the unusual.” Bridgette lifts Tripp from her lap and holds him out for me to take. “Here. I know you’re dying to hold him.” I happily take the baby from Bridg. “Hey, little man. I think you’ve grown an inch since I saw you.” Tripp isn’t mine but he is my son’s half-brother. I can’t look at him and not wonder how similar they would have been. Would Eli have been a happy baby like Tripp? Would he have wanted a pacifier like his brother? Or preferred to suck his thumb instead? “Wren is a little different, isn’t she?” That’s an understatement. “She’s a lot different. But in the best kind of way.” “You haven’t mentioned a word about her since we were introduced. What’s going on?” “We spent time together at the festival. We clicked but had a lot of factors working against us so it didn’t seem logical to pursue anything. But then I spent the next month going batshit crazy thinking about her and I said to hell with it. I gotta go see her.” Bridgette chuckles. She’s loving this, seeing me go stupid over a woman. “She must have some good stuff if she pussy-whipped you in one weekend?” Tripp squirms in my arms and wails. “Tripp, tell your mommy Uncle Boudreaux didn’t fuck Wren the weekend of the festival,” I say in my best baby voice. “Heads up.” Bridgette tosses Tripp’s pacifier and I catch it midair. “You’re shittin’ me, Boudreaux.” A ferocious odor invades my nostrils. “I’m not but your son may be.”

Bridgette flashes a smile. “Why do you think I gave him to you? Smeller is the feller who gets to change him.” Just like her to do something like that. “Let me get this straight. You met Wren, genuinely liked the woman, and then went after her in another state?” “You hit the nail on the head.” “My God, Bou. Are you in love with her?” “I think I could be well on my way.” “You totally are. Shit. I never thought I’d see the day.” Bridgette shakes her head. “Does she know about us and the kind of marriage we had?” “Yeah. She was completely non-judgmental about the whole thing.” “That’s a wonder within itself. Did you tell her about Eli?” “Everything.” “You’re such a dumbass, Bou.” What the fuck did I do? “I knew this was going to happen one day.” She lost me. “You knew what was going to happen?” “You went and had that stupid vasectomy and now you’ve found the one.” Bridgette is totally jumping the gun. “Whoa. Don’t put the cart before the horse. I like Wren a lot but I don’t want to go marrying her and start having sick kids.” Bridgette’s mouth forms a hard line. “You’re such a motherfucker for saying that.” “Why? You know where I stand on this.” “You might as well say I shouldn’t have had Ava and Tripp because they could have had problems.” “We’ve made different decisions. Having those beautiful babies was the right one for you.” “And it can be for you too with the right woman. What if she’s the one for you?” “I don’t want to do that again.” I couldn’t do that again. The terror in her eyes. The pain. The deep, soul-destroying depression. Losing the lively, sweet Bridgette to the shell of despair she became. Holding my beloved baby as he took his last breath. Ripped. My. Heart. Out. Losing Eli hurt like hell but seeing Bridgette in so much pain—both physically and emotionally—almost killed me. No. Never again. “Your babies would be fine if she doesn’t have the gene for renal agenesis. Does anyone in her family have one kidney?” “I don’t know and I’m not asking.” It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve had a vasectomy. No babies are coming out of this dick. “I don’t get you, Boudreaux. You could have healthy children with her.” “What if something different goes wrong?” I couldn’t stand to see another woman I love go through that, especially one I was in love with. “That’s such irrational bullshit. The brakes on your truck could fail but does that keep you from driving?” “Well, bullshit or not, Wren knows about the vasectomy. She says it isn’t a problem for her.”

“Talk to me about this in six months and tell me if she’s still okay with it. No, wait. I give it three months.” I know what Bridgette is thinking but she’s wrong. Wren isn’t like other women. She doesn’t need marriage and babies to be happy.

ELEVEN FUCKING DAYS. I LEFT SAVANNAH WITH THE MISBELIEF OUR REUNION WOULD BE HERE BEFORE WE knew it. I even thought the topless pics Wren texted me might help ease our time apart. Wrong. So much worse. Who knew it could feel like an eternity? I think that’s a testament to how bad I’ve missed Wren. We decided she should come to Birmingham this trip since Bridgette and Warren have four tickets to the James Bay concert. This feels sort of weird. I’ve done all kinds of concerts and festivals with Bridgette and Warren but I’ve never brought a woman along. Should be interesting. I hope Bridgette keeps her big mouth shut about the whole marriage and baby thing. Sometimes she’s under the misconception she knows what’s right for everyone else even when they don’t. I finally see Wren’s tiny hybrid car coming up my drive. Definite tree-hugger automobile. Damn thing looks like something my truck would eat for breakfast. She dashes toward me and crashes against my chest. Her arms quickly wrap around my shoulders. I put my hands on the back of her upper thighs and lift her from the ground so she’s straddling me. “Damn, baby. I’ve missed you.” She’s kissing every inch of my face. “I’ve missed you, too.” I carry her through the door and kick it closed with my foot. We land on the sofa, her on top of me. “It was bad, wasn’t it? Tell me it wasn’t just me.” “Being without you for that long was fucking brutal.” She grabs my bearded face only moments before her mouth descends on mine. Our teeth bump but it doesn’t stop our tongues from rolling in waves against each other. Now, that’s a warm hello. Hope I always get this kind of heated reunion. I love it. “You’re the one taking my breath away this time.” “Sorry. I’m a little excited. I had the whole drive here to think about it.” I’m guessing six hours of fantasizing about sex would rev you up for sure. It would me. “Bridgette and Warren want to go out for dinner before the concert. It’s their first outing since Tripp was born so they want to make the most of it.”

Wren grinds her pelvis against me. “Oh, that means we won’t have time to play.” I would love to have some playtime with her right now. “I can tell them we can’t make it.” “I hate to do that. I’m sure they’re looking forward to a kid-free night.” “I’ll do whatever you want, babe.” She sighs loudly and I know it’s a sign she’s conceding. “We’ll go; I don’t want to disappoint them.” “We have two days. We’ll make it count.” She holds up her hand displaying three fingers. “We actually have three. I got Wynter to take Monday so I could stay over Sunday night too. I have to pay her time and a half but it’s worth every penny to get an extra night with you.” Three nights with Wren instead of two. “That’s fantastic news.” “What time are we going to dinner?” “Supposed to meet them in an hour but traffic will probably be chaotic. Can you be ready to go in thirty minutes?” “Even if I put on a little makeup I can be ready in fifteen.” “I love when a girl is beautiful and low maintenance.” Bridgette used to piss me off so bad taking forever to get ready. That’s Warren’s problem now. As promised, Wren is ready in fifteen minutes, and lovely as ever. “Denim shorts and a tank top okay for the restaurant and an outdoor concert?” “It’s a bar and grill that serves vegan. Very casual so you look perfect.” I lean against the back of the couch and pull her to stand between my legs. She wraps her arms around my shoulders as I slip my hands into the back pockets of her shorts. “I’m very happy you’re here.” “Me too.” “I’ve been working on Stout, getting him used to seeing me fully committed to a girlfriend. You may not know it but I walk the line for you. And it’s a fine one.” “A fine line, huh? I like that.” Wren puts her hands on my chest and rubs my nipples through my T-shirt. “You’re with Ollie almost every day. When you feel he’s ready to know, I’m all in.” “He’s not there yet but I’m afraid he’ll feel betrayed in a different kind of way if we hide it from him too long. I was thinking maybe we tell him after we’ve had a couple more weekends together.” “I’m good with a month.” I pull her close and inhale deeply. Damn, I’ve missed this smell. “This bar and grill has some great specialty drinks. Want to go on a little early and grab one?” “Sounds good.” “They’ll probably be late anyway. Bridg doesn’t have the best track record for being on time and adding another kid to the equation isn’t going to speed things.” “Poor thing. We should have gone over there to make things easier on them.” I’m not opposed to that. “We still can. It might help them get out the door a little faster.”

Wren’s eyes widen. “Let’s do. I would love to see Ava again and meet little Tripp.” “That works for me. We can get them to chauffeur us so we can drink as much as we want without worrying about driving.” “Yes. Because we don’t need a DUI and rehab for a damn month to get out of it.” “Amen.” Wren gasps when we walk out. “Where did my car go?” “I moved it around back while you were getting ready. It would be a dead giveaway if Stout came by.” “True.” I follow Wren to the passenger door of my truck and open it for her. “Such the gentleman.” “You won’t say that later.” “Mmm . . . have something feisty in mind?” “Definitely.”

WARREN IS THE ONE TO ANSWER THE DOOR. “BOUDREAUX, IT’S GONE TO HELL IN A FUCKING HAND basket.” No surprise. “We suspected it might. That’s why we’re here.” “The babysitter is late, Bridgette can’t get ready because Tripp wants to nurse every fifteen minutes, I haven’t showered because Ava is acting out and doesn’t want us to leave. By the way, nice to see you again, Wren. I’m sorry you’ve unsuspectingly walked into hell.” This carnival is rolling on four flats. “What can we do to help?” “Whatever you’re willing to do.” Warren is too damn overwhelmed to even make that decision. Parenthood is no joke. “Uncle Boudreaux, you get Bebelle.” Wren points at Warren and then toward the hallway. “Bring Tripp to me so Bridgette can finish getting ready and then you go shower.” Warren nods. “That’s a good plan.” He leaves and returns a moment later with Tripp, passing him to Wren. “Thank you for coming by and doing this.” “No problem.” Wren isn’t a wife or mother. How is she able to walk through the door, dish out

orders, and become the element to bring calm to this storm? This woman never ceases to amaze me, no matter the issue. Others judge. She accepts. Others choose cruelty. She chooses compassion. Others deny sympathy. She offers empathy. Such a beautiful woman, inside and out. Wren goes to the sofa with Tripp. She places him on her lap and bends over him, making eye contact. “Hello there, little guy. Are you using your mama as a pacifier? I think you are.” He grasps her thumbs and she kisses his tiny fingers. “He’s so cute, Brou.” “I told you he was awesome.” “He is indeed.” She picks him up and presses his cheek to hers. “What a snuggle bug.” Ava runs into the room and tackles my leg. “Hello, Bebelle.” I pick her up and toss her into the air. “How is my girl?” “Good.” Ava looks over and sees Wren. “Wren.” I can’t believe she remembers her. Ava goes to her when Wren holds out her arm, inviting her to sit next to her. “What do you think of your little brother?” “He cwies a lot. I wanted a sista.” “I have a baby brother too. Well, he’s not a baby anymore but he was a long time ago. I didn’t like him much at first because he cried and stole my toys but then he got a little older. And you know what happened?” “Wut?” “He became my best friend. And he has been since. I know you love Tripp even if you may not be crazy about him right now. And it’s okay. But that will change. Tripp will be your best friend one day soon.” “’Kay.” Ava’s off and running. Wren shrugs. “Well, I tried.” “Good effort.” Wren strokes her finger down the center of Tripp’s face from his forehead, down the slope of his nose, over his lips, ending at his chin. He closes his eyes each time she does it and before long, keeps them closed. “Is that baby voodoo?” “He’s probably picking up on Bridgette’s anxiety so I’m helping him relax.” Within minutes, Tripp has gone to sleep. Wren brings his hand to her cheek and strokes it down her face. “Nothing is sweeter than a baby.” Shit. She loves babies. She is a natural with babies. How could I have been so wrong? Bridgette could be right. I may end up losing Wren because she wants things I can’t give her. Things I won’t give her.

Lawrence Thorn

THE FOOD AT THE BAR AND GRILL WAS DELECTABLE. THE DRINKS WERE TO DIE FOR AND THE CONCERT WAS one of the best shows I’ve seen in a while. It’s been an excellent night, although I’ve probably had more to drink than I should. Bridgette pulls to a stop in front of Brou’s house. “This was a great first postbaby outing. I’m so glad you were able to make it into town, Wren.” “It was so much fun. I’m glad you had the extra tickets.” Brou opens his door and I slide over to get out behind him. “We’ll come by and get my truck tomorrow.” “That’ll be fine.” I wrap my arms around Brou from behind while he digs for the keys in his pocket. “I’m glad we did that. It was a great night.” “Bridg and Warren are fun people.” “She cracks me up.” “Yeah, Bridgette’s the comedian of the two.” I can see that. “This reminds me of a time not so long ago when someone had his hand in my panties while I was trying to open the door.” I slide my hand into the front of his jeans and move it up and down his cock. “I was so distracted I could hardly get it open. Let’s see if you do better than me.” “Definitely distracting.” He puts the key in the lock and turns it. “Mmm . . . damn, that feels good. Eleven days is a long time.” He swings the door wide. “Open sesame.” He twists in my arms and grabs my waist, pulling me hard against him while we clumsily pass through the entrance. “God, I’ve missed you so bad.” “I know the feeling. I’ve missed you, too.” “I want you in my bed right now.” “I’m good with that.” Brou walks backward, kissing me the whole way while removing our clothes. We’re both naked by the time we make it to the bed. “Tell me what you want.” “You. Always you.” “Slow and sweet or fast and furious?”

I guess most women would choose to make slow, sweet love but I’m in the mood for something different. Heated passion. I crave it. Need it. Now. “I really just want you to fuck me hard.” We can take our time making love later. “Woman, you’re hotter than a damn firecracker. Let’s try something a little different.” “Okay.” The word different has never frightened me. He kisses up my neck until his mouth covers my ear. “On the bed. Hands and knees. Ass up, baby.” Oh, my. That sounds dirty. I like it. He slaps my naked ass. It stings a little, but not enough to hurt. Whatever he has in mind, I’m in. “Do it now, Wren.” His voice is gruff. Demanding. Hot. “Face the headboard.” I twist around and do as he instructs. I feel the bed dip when he crawls over me from behind. Hot skin is all I feel, except for the huge erection pressing against my butt cheek. He presses his lips against the back of my neck and peppers me with kisses as he slowly moves to my shoulder. His teeth graze the skin there and chills erupt over my entire body. My back arches as though it has a mind of its own. The way he makes my body respond is crazy. I’m squirming beneath him, rubbing my bottom from side to side against his erection. His hand creeps around to my stomach and then lower so he can stroke me in that delightful place. Each and every nerve ending from my waist down is ignited. “Hands on the headboard. Lock your elbows or you’ll hit your head.” Oh, shit. What is he going to do to me? His hand abandons me in the front, temporarily, so his fingers can enter me from behind. They slide in and out softly and slowly at first but then he changes maneuvers and uses quick, jerky motions very much like tapping vibrations against the pleasure center nestled beneath my pelvic bone. Holy shit, what is he doing? It’s magnificent. The tension in my body builds until I’m stiff as a board. Trembling. Waiting. Biting my lip in desperation for whatever is coming. “Wren, you are about to come so hard.” Fuck, he ain’t lying. More tapping. Slowly in and out. Quick tapping. More vibrations. Shit. This is so good. Can’t. Hold. On. Much. Longer. Tap. Tap. I’m a shuddering mess when the first wave hits. “Ohh . . . ohh.” The quaking starts in my core. Heat spreads. Nerves tingle. Muscles deep inside vibrate a series of contracting and relaxing. It’s too many sensations to withstand at once. I’m on a cliff, about to fall. Or jump. I don’t know if my parachute will open. And I don’t care. I hear Brou tell me I’m his, and I let him push me over the edge. This orgasm owns me. And so does he. “Tell me, Wren. I want to hear you say it again.”

I know what he means. “I’m yours, Brou,” I groan through gritted teeth as the sensation radiates down between my legs to finish me off. He kisses me between my shoulder blades. “Good girl.” I collapse face down on the bed, panting. “Not yet; we aren’t done.” Oh, shit. What have I asked for? I rise onto my hands and knees. “Lock ’em against the headboard. Whatever you do, don’t bend them.” “Okay.” I’ll do whatever this man tells me in this moment. He pushes my knees apart with his and positions himself at my entrance. He burrows into me hard and fast. I understand now why he told me to keep my arms locked against the headboard—to hold me in place, so he didn’t send my head crashing into it. He grasps my hips, his fingertips holding my flesh tightly as he pounds into me over and over from behind. I told him to fuck me hard. Well, he listened. He slows to a stop and panting fills the room. “Get on your stomach.” I move to lie facedown. His body stretches over mine, his chest and stomach wet with sweat so his skin sticks to me. He grips my chin, turns my head to the side, and kisses the corner of my mouth. “You are so precious to me.” His knees go to the outside of my thighs forcing my legs together—not his usual method of spreading me wide. He rubs his tip through my slit and pushes against my bottom but he doesn’t go in. “Arch your back and tilt your ass up.” Brou glides in easily once we achieve the perfect position. Oh my . . . this is different. And fucking good. He’s pushing my legs together instead of apart but it feels incredible. He presses my hips into the bed, pounding me into the mattress each time he thrusts deeper. His breath is ragged in my ear. His thrusts are slower but still hard and deep. “I’m gonna come inside you.” I lock my arms extra tight. “Do it. Fill me up.” He drives into me hard as he growls. “I am. Two weeks’ worth.” When he’s done, Brou relaxes and rests his forehead on the back of my head. His warm, quick breath permeates my hair. “Fuck. That was something.” He pulls out and rolls to his back, taking me with him to lie against his chest. I hitch my leg over his, and he rubs his hand up and down my thigh until he reaches my cheek and squeezes. “Damn, baby. That was good. I may not mind the miles if it means we get to reunite like that every time.” “I’m not crazy about the distance but it does initiate some damn good sex.” “Not too rough?” My fingers make a game of twirling the hair on his stomach. “It was a wee bit on the aggressive side but I liked it.” He cups his arm around my shoulder and moves it up and down my arm. “I like how you’ll let me be crude and ungentlemanly with you and then gentle and tender the next time.” “I enjoy the polar opposites of both.”

His hand finds mine and intertwines our fingers. I love when he does that. Feels so affectionate. “Bridgette is very fond of you. She told me I should hold on to you tightly.” “And you said?” He squeezes my hand. “Bridg, it’s going to be tough but I plan on holding her as tightly as she’ll let me.” “Good answer.” We have a lot of things working against us. I’m not sure we have a fighting chance but I still want to try. “What are our plans for tomorrow?” “The options are endless so anything you want.” I try to remember some of the things I’ve done on my other visits to Birmingham. “Ollie took me to the farmers’ market one time. I wouldn’t mind going back.” “We can do that.” “I’d love to get fresh ingredients and cook a vegan meal for you.” “Yeah, that would be great.” No hesitation. I like that. “What about inviting Bridgette, Warren, and the kids? Or would you prefer it were just the two of us?” I like being around them. I’m probably the first girlfriend in history to ever like hanging out with her boyfriend’s ex-wife. “I’d love to invite them. They have me over all the time and I never return the favor. I’m sure it’ll be a nice treat to have someone cook dinner for them.” “Tomorrow is supposed to be beautiful. You should invite them to the farmers’ market too.” “I’ll ask.” A long yawn escapes my mouth. “Someone’s tired.” “Very.” The long drive and our night out drinking have stolen my pep. Brou turns in the bed, cueing me to twist with him so I’m lying on my side with him cuddling behind me. Spooning. I like that. He kisses the back of my head. “Sweet dreams, Wren.”

“ANY REQUESTS FOR DINNER?” “Pizza,” Ava says. Brou pats her on top of the head. “Wren is preparing dinner for us tonight. She wants to cook something special.”

“Pizza,” she squeals. Bridgette huffs. “That child and her eating habits are going to be the death of me.” I’m no gourmet chef but I want this dinner to be delicious and satisfying. “I was thinking grilled vegetable galettes. I can make a pizza version for Ava.” Bridgette stops pushing Tripp’s stroller. “Wren, you don’t have to go to that trouble.” I like how Warren and Bridgette have chosen to call me Wren as well. Mom and Dad have never been one to use nicknames, but Law, said with their doting affection, has always made me feel loved and cherished. Ollie calls me sis and Lawry, which has been something he’s done since he was little. Being called Wren by people Brou so clearly considers family is . . . inclusive, accepting. It’s nice. It’s nothing to throw together a little tomato sauce mixture. “It’s no trouble and I like to call it being deliciously deceptive. I guarantee I can serve her the healthiest pizza she’s ever had and she’ll love every bite.” “Please. All she wants to eat are hot dogs, French fries, and pizza—the unhealthy kind.” I lower my voice so Ava can’t hear me. “I’ll puree her vegetables in the sauce, make a smiley face with the soy cheese. She’ll never know she’s eating something good for her.” “I will seriously kiss you hard if you pull this off.” The look on Warren’s face is priceless when he covers Ava’s ears and whispers, “Ooh, girl-on-girl action?” Bridgette covers her daughter’s eyes with her hands. I’m thinking to myself all she needs now is her mouth covered when Ava places her own hand to her lips. She’s been trained well to see, hear, and speak no evil. “Shut up, jackass. She’s going to think we’re kinky weirdos or something.” Brou puts his arms around me from behind. “Both of you can forget it. I’m the only one who kisses this woman.” Bridgette shakes her head as she stares. “Who are you and what have you done with our best friend?” “Same ole me, Bridg, but improved.”

“CAN I HELP YOU DO ANYTHING?”

I’m not sure about Bridgette’s skills in the kitchen but anyone can cut vegetables. Maybe. “How about you slice the tomatoes, squash, and zucchini while I make the pesto sauce and crust?” “Sounds good. How do you want ’em cut?” “Thin and crosswise is best for this dish.” “Got it.” I open one cabinet, and then another. “What are you looking for?” “Mixing bowl.” “Cabinet to your right.” “Thanks.” I grab the mixing bowl and rinse it. No telling how long it’s been since it was used last. Brou is neat as a pin but still a bachelor. “I have to ask. Why is this not weird for you? Why are you not uncomfortable with my relationship with Boudreaux?” Most women would probably be highly threatened by this beautiful woman he once called his wife. But I’m not. No need to pretend I don’t know what she means. “I embrace the unusual.” “You don’t think I was a cheating bitch whore for falling in love with my husband’s best friend and then marrying him after I divorced Boudreaux?” I stop what I’m doing so I can look at Bridgette. “No. Brou explained the why behind your marriage. Your friendship remained intact, and from what I can tell, became even stronger. You were his rock when his grandfather died. So how can I feel anything but respect?” “Boudreaux had a huge hole torn in his heart when we lost Eli. He’s spent years seeking happiness in things and places it didn’t exist. But I see something different inside him when he’s with you.” “I’m different with him, too.” More grounded. “You’re it. The ray of sunlight he needs in the darkness he calls life.” “Light is easy to love. I want to see all his darkness.” It’s there just beneath the surface. I feel it. And I’ll wait for him to show me. “He will when the time is right. When he does, you’ll know you have all of his heart.” All of his heart. The thought of it belonging to me makes me giddy and I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Do you love him?” I stop chopping the basil and look at Bridgette. “I do. And it feels exciting and completely insane and irrational, even for me. I haven’t known him long enough to have those kinds of feelings. That’s crazy, right? You don’t meet someone and fall in love in six weeks. Especially when you live six hours apart.” “Crazy love is the best kind.” “It’s scary as hell.” “Loving Warren was like that. Scary. Exciting. Insane. Irrational. Wrong in a lot of people’s eyes. But I don’t care, and I haven’t regretted marrying him a single day. It was the right thing for us, and I’m further convinced of it every time I look at our children.”

“Well, Brou has ruled out both of those options.” I don’t get a say. “We’ve had quite a few heated conversations about that damn vasectomy. He told me you were okay with it.” Okay is a loose term. “I am for now.” We’re only six weeks into this relationship. “I hear a but.” “Brou told me he doesn’t want to remarry or have children.” And he seemed solid about it. That does not work for me, or the plans I have for my life. “But you do?” “Very much. I’ve wanted a husband and children for as long as I can remember.” I desperately desire—and need—the happy family I didn’t get in my early childhood. I want a husband and children who love me in return. It’s the life I didn’t have my first ten years but my yearning has nothing to do with Jimmy and Christie’s mistreatment. It was Mom and Dad who taught me how to love unconditionally. I want that to echo in a family of my own. I have so much to give. Dammit. I just want to be loved. I deserve that happiness in my life. And at almost thirty-two, I need to find it soon. “Don’t let Boudreaux fool you for a minute about having children. Nothing would make him happier than to have his own, but he has an enormous fear of something going wrong again.” “Yes, he does.” “I think his mind could be changed about marriage and children, but only by the right woman. There’s nothing I’d love to see more.” Brou comes into the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge and we both go silent. “I know I just interrupted something you don’t want me to hear because you both look like a cat with a canary in your mouth.” “Just girl talk.” “Maybe I want to get in on some of that.” “Okay. I was just telling Wren how much I love my children and what a blessing they are in my life and how I don’t know what I’d do without them and they were worth every bit of risk and I’d do it again in a heartbeat and I probably will when Tripp is older.” Damn, Bridgette. Take a breath. Brou keeps his back to us and stands at the refrigerator with the door open. “What kind of beer do you want, Warren?” “IPA.” Brou doesn’t glance our way as he goes back to the living room. Fuck. I think that’s bad. “I think I’ll have a beer.” Or twelve. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” No, it wasn’t her place; this is between Brou and me. But, at least it was her spouting off. He can’t be mad at me about that. I don’t have the heart to be angry with Bridgette. I really think she meant well and everything she said to Brou was for my benefit.

“It’s okay.” Except I’m not sure it is. He didn’t say a word or even turn to look at me. I wasn’t the one running my mouth about having babies. No more baby talk. It’s caused too much trouble. “Tell me about the Lucas Broussard you met thirteen years ago.” Bridgette bursts into laughter. “Oh, God. Good-looking. Funny. Athletic. Star pitcher on the baseball team. All the girls wanted him.” “Sounds like the complete opposite of the guy I would have dated in high school.” I was into the hipster artist type. I had dreads my senior year. I bet Brou’s jock ass wouldn’t have given me a second glance in high school. “He thought he was God’s Cajun gift to women.” That’s funny to me. Brou has never acted as though he thinks he’s hot shit. Although, he so is. “But he wasn’t to you?” “Oh, Lord, no. He was always like a brother to me. We acted like buffoons together. Always getting into some kind of nonsense.” Bridgette goes for her purse and takes out her wallet. “Look at this.” It takes a moment for it to register. “Is that you and Brou?” “Yep.” The beard totally changes his looks. He’s so skinny in this picture. Nothing like the muscular man he is today. His eyes are the only things even remotely familiar about the guy in this photo. This is not my Brou. He’s Bridgette’s Boudreaux. And they’re two totally different people. “I can’t believe this is him. He looks so young.” “This was taken about a month before we graduated.” And about a year later, they were married and expecting a baby. Bridgette takes out her phone and begins giving me a slideshow of Brou for as far back as her pictures go. I’m cackling over one of Brou, obviously intoxicated, and wearing one of Ava’s bibs when Warren comes into the kitchen to fetch beers. “What did y’all say to Boudreaux? He hasn’t said three words since he was in here.” “Wren didn’t say anything. It was all me.” Warren tosses his hands into the air. “What the fuck, Bridg?” “I’ll fix this. Give me five minutes before you come back.” “Damn. I’m sorry, Wren. Bridgette still thinks she can henpeck Boudreaux. Or mother him. I don’t always know which. He usually lets her, but I could see something was different the second he came back. What did she say?” “It was about having babies.” “Shit, she doesn’t want to let that one go.” Warren stands with his hands on his hips. “Well, I can’t go back in there now. What can I do to help?” I’m guessing Warren has shit for skills in the kitchen based on the things I’ve heard Bridgette say, so I choose something he can’t possibly screw up. “You can spread the pesto on the galettes except for one. I’m putting tomato sauce on that one for Ava’s cheese pizza.”

Warren does a decent job with his assigned task. “Now you can top them with the vegetables in thin layers.” I watch his first attempt to be sure he does this job as well as the first. “Like this?” “Yes. Very nice.” The galettes are coming out of the oven when Bridgette comes back. “I’m so sorry. I screwed up bigger than I thought. Five minutes wasn’t even close to being long enough for me to deliver the ass kissing it took to fix what I did.” “Is he upset with me?” “Oh, no. Don’t worry, it was all me. He’s cool with you. Very cool.” I’m happy Brou isn’t angry with me, but I’m questioning if this topic is something we should table for another time? My feelings aren’t going to change. I want to be married. I want children. But do I want the happily ever after with Lucas Broussard? Will he be capable of the change Bridg thinks he is? Is he worth the investment? The energy? The heartache?

Lucas Broussard

I CAN’T RECALL A TIME WHEN I’VE EVER WANTED TO PUT MY FOOT IN BRIDGETTE’S ASS MORE. ALWAYS thinking she knows what I need. I can’t believe she did that to me. Fuck. The last two hours were uncomfortable. Thanks a lot, Bridg, for opening your big mouth. I get three days every two weeks with Wren. I don't want to spend a single one of them with awkward conversations hanging in the air. And there’s a huge one there now. Babies. Do I address it? Leave it be? On the upside, the night started out well. Wren has situated herself into my life flawlessly. She’s full of ease and grace when it comes to four of the most important people in my life. She’s like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into the empty space. I didn’t expect to find that in any woman. And my sweet Bebelle. Her raving review of dinner was a welcome distraction for the uneasiness created by her mother. Warren used her positivity as a way to break the ice with reminding Bridgette of her promise to kiss Wren hard if Ava ate her healthy dinner and liked it. I laughed, but not once did I stop thinking about the possibility of losing Wren. And all because Bridgette’s comment will likely spark a difficult conversation I’d rather avoid. I stretch across my bed waiting for Wren to come out of the bathroom. Seems to be taking a little longer than usual. I hope Bridgette hasn’t caused a problem with her. Or between us. “Everything okay in there?” “Yeah. Be out in a minute.” A moment later she opens the door and I can see it all over her face. Something is wrong. I’m fucked. “I’m sorry. I’m just going to be honest. I don’t know if I should come out in this or not.” She waves her hand over the sexy nighty she’s wearing. “I brought this because I wanted to be sexy for you but after that fallout I’m wondering if I should

put on this T-shirt and boxers in case you don’t feel like having sex.” Is she serious? The only time I wouldn’t feel like sex is when I’m dead. Even then, I’ll probably still want it. I hold out my arms for her. “Come ’ere, baby.” I take the T-shirt and boxers from her hand and toss them across the room. “I want you in this.” My girlfriend is smokin’ hot. How did I get so lucky? “I’m sorry to be weird or kill the mood but I didn’t want to come out wearing this and make you feel like you had to have sex with me if you didn’t want to.” “You silly girl. I always want to have sex with you.” Every chance I get. How the hell could I not? “There’s an elephant in the room. A baby one. Do we talk about it?” Here we go. “Do you need to tell me anything that will affect our relationship now or in the near future?” “No.” To me, there’s our answer. “I vote we skip any unnecessary conversation until we come to the point where you or I feel it affects our relationship and has to be discussed.” “Yes. I agree.” Thank fuck. I slide my finger under the strap of her white gown. “This is very pretty. Sexy.” “I was hoping you would think so.” I slip my hand beneath the nighty and find near nonexistent panties. I rub my hands over the back and discover a thong. “Very nice, indeed.” I lose the shirt while Wren reaches for the button of my jeans and pulls it free. We both watch her skillful fingers push the zipper of my pants down. Then her hands are inside the waistband of my boxer briefs, pulling both lower as I lift from the bed to assist her with the task. I’m naked, and already hard so my erection juts forward. She slides one, and then both straps of her nighty off her shoulders. Slowly pushing it down, her beautiful breasts are revealed, and she then shimmies out of her thong. Her eyes never leave mine, and fuck, is it ever hot. I groan quietly as she lifts one leg and places her knee on the outside of my thigh and then the other. With her arms wrapped around my shoulders, she slowly lowers herself so she’s pressed against my dick. I’m dying to be inside her. She bites her lip and rolls her hips as she rubs against me. “I’ve never felt like this,” she whispers as she sinks down, pushing me deep inside her. I know what she means. And I feel it, too. “I want you so much, Wren.” Every day. Not just three days every couple weeks. She moves up and down in a slow, deliberate motion. I grasp her bottom so I can move with her in perfect rhythm as she rides me. “You feel so good. A perfect fit.” She tightens her hold on my shoulders. “I don’t want this to ever stop.” I glide my hands upward and press her perfect breasts together. I lean forward and suck one nipple into my mouth and scrape my teeth over the hard, wet pebble as I thumb its twin. I feel the familiar quivers approaching. “Ohh . . . I’m about to come.”

I grab her face and kiss hard as I explode inside her, giving everything I have to give. This isn’t just sex. This is . . . more, and I’m not afraid. I press my forehead to hers. “I’ve never felt like this either.” I’m not confused by what these feelings mean. I’m falling fast and hard for this woman. She’s holding each side of my face, stroking my beard. “I didn’t know it was going to be like this . . . that I was going to want you this much and all the time.” Ditto. “I know. I can’t stand the thought of being separated again for two weeks.” It’s killing me. Talking and texting isn’t enough. “I try to block it out of my mind so I can enjoy our time together but it sneaks into my head anyway.” We aren’t fleeting. This relationship isn’t going away. I’m sure of it. “I want to tell Stout about us.” She leans back to look at me. “I thought we were going to wait and see how things went before we said anything.” “I know but I don’t want to wait until your next trip to Birmingham. I’d like him and your parents to know so we can be together openly.” I want the world to know Lawrence Thorn is mine. “What do you say, Wren?” “Yes. Let’s do it.” She uses her eyes and brows to call attention to my crotch. “But you might want to wear a cup to protect all that. Ollie isn’t going to be happy about this.” “He probably won’t be at first but I’ll show him I can be trusted with you.” And your heart. He’ll come to see and accept it.

“HEY, MAN.” STOUT STEPS INSIDE AND WE DO THE HALF-MAN-HUG-HANDSHAKE THING. “I’M GLAD YOU invited me over. It’s been too long since we got together to do something like this.” He thinks we’re watching the game on my big screen. Wrong. Stout stops to take a look at the spread of appetizers on the bar. “Damn. Is that fresh guacamole?” “It is.” “You went to a lot of trouble, Tap. I hope you don’t expect me to put out later.” I’d settle for him not killing me at this point. “Wasn’t me. My girlfriend made all of this.” “Ah, the girlfriend. How’s that going?”

“Really well. Far better than I ever dreamed.” “I never thought I’d see you become a one-woman kind of man but she’s changed the Lucas Broussard I know. This relationship suits you. I see how happy you are.” I’m glad he’s seen the changes in me. “Never been happier. And I’m hoping you will be too when we’re finished talking to you.” Stout’s head tilts as his forehead wrinkles. That’s one hell of a stare he’s giving me. “About what?” I motion for him to follow me. “Let’s go into the living room.” Wren stands when we enter. She’s wearing a huge smile. Wish I were that confident all will go well. “Hey, Ollie.” He stops, and again, wears a mask of confusion. Briefly. “Oh, hell, no.” I go to Wren’s side and we simultaneously reach for each other’s hands, intertwining our fingers together. I give her two light squeezes and she returns the gesture. Stout points his finger at me. “You damn liar. You swore to me you didn’t—” I put my hand up. “And when you asked me, I had not, so I did not lie to you.” His hands go to his hips. “But I’d better not ask now, am I right? ’Cause I highly doubt I’ll like your answer.” Wren releases my hand and goes to him, grasping his arm. “Please, Ollie. Don’t . . .” He grabs her arms and turns her so she can’t see me. “Lawry. You don’t know how he is with women.” “I know how he is with me.” He releases her and looks at me. He’s so pissed off. “When did this start?” “At the beer festival but we didn’t decide to pursue a relationship until a couple weeks ago.” “Savannah. You invited yourself to go so you could see her.” No need in lying about it. “I had to know if we were feeling the same thing.” “I assume you were or we wouldn’t be here having this conversation now.” Stout swishes his hand back and forth toward us. “What is this? And I swear to God I’ll kick your ass if you say fuck buddies.” Wren takes my hand again. “We’re in a relationship.” “You’re there and he’s here.” It sounds impossible. “We’re making it work for now.” “Lawry, I need to talk to Tap alone, please.” She releases my hand and walks toward the kitchen, touching Stout’s shoulder as she passes. “Be nice.” He sinks into my recliner. “I’m so pissed off at you right now.” We knew this was coming so time to face the music. “I have nothing but good intentions where Lawrence is concerned.” “To hell with your good intentions. What happens when you’re done with her and break her heart?”

“I won’t break her heart. I swear.” “Lawrence is strong. She had to be with the way we were raised in the early years but she can be guarded. That means when she decides to love, it isn’t halfway. She’ll love you with all her heart.” “That’s one of the things I love about her. Her genuineness.” “Love? Are you even capable of such?” Stout is right to ask me if I am even capable of love because up until now, I hadn’t thought I was. When Stout first met me I was jaded. I never cheated on the women I fucked —how could you when you only offer one night? But I had been blasé about women. Angry perhaps? Needing separation from the clusterfuck my life had become. And now there is Wren. Beautiful, insightful, amazing Wren. No other woman has caused me to want more. No other woman has caused my heart to crack at the thought of not having her in my life. Hot as fuck? Yes, absolutely. But she is so real. She understands me, and accepts all the shit in my life. We are a good fit. “I know you think I’m full of shit, and incapable of love, but this is different than anything I’ve ever experienced. She’s different.” “Shit, you’re serious.” “I didn't want to fall in love, not at all. But at some point she smiled, and damn . . . I think I’m a goner.” I’m not sure why I said I think. I know I am. “I did you a huge favor once. You told me you owed me big time. All I had to do was name what I wanted and you’d make it happen. I’m collecting. And I want Wren.” “Well, fuck me. I don’t know what to say to that.” “Say you’ll trust me with your sister. Give us your blessing.” Not that we need it but Stout’s support would make things a lot easier. He leans forward and rests his head in his hands. Saying nothing. Hopefully he’s thinking it over. He sighs loudly when he finally lifts his head. “I can’t give you my trust or blessing right now but I will give you a chance. Do not fuck her over. And do not let her down. She’s had enough of that in her life.” There’s an underlying smile threatening to break through his tough exterior. But it’s all a front. He’s happy about this. I see it in his eyes even if he doesn’t want to admit it. It’s not his trust or blessing but I’ll take it. “I swear I won’t let her down.” “You better not. Trust me, I will take it out on your ass if you make me sorry I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.” There’s that smirk I’m used to seeing. “I understand.” “And you have to tell her everything about your marriage and your history with women so she isn’t going into this blind.” “As I told you on our trip back from Savannah, she knows everything and has since the first weekend we met. I’ve been very open. It isn’t an issue for her.” “You’re aware there will be problems between us if this goes down in flames because of you?” I have no doubt.

“I gave that a lot of consideration before I chose to pursue her. I didn’t make that decision lightly; I value our friendship and partnership.” Stout swears beneath his breath and chuckles. “What is it?” “Porter is going to be pissed off. He’s wanted her for years but I told him she was hands-off. Well, I told you that, too, but a hell of a lot of good that did.” Speaking of being pissed off. “There’s something else. I want this to work with Lawrence, and if it does, I didn’t want a lie to be between us.” His eyes narrow. “What did you do?” “I had to tell her about the texts.” He fists the top of his hair and growls. “Oh, fuck, Tap. What did you say about it?” “The truth but it’s all cool.” “I fucking doubt that.” He stares at me with wide eyes. “Lawry would never think a DUI is cool.” “She was pretty mad about that part but I explained everything about the program and why. She didn’t really act that upset about it but I’m sure she’ll want to discuss it now that it’s out in the open.” He gave her too little credit. “It’s awesome you want to be honest from the start, but dude, you broke bro code.” And I’d do it again. “It’s the only way to be. I don’t want anything biting me in the ass a few months, or a year, from now.” “A year?” Everybody says that. “It could happen.” And I hope it does. “Can I be there when you tell Porter? I want to see his face.” I bet he does. I’m not crazy about the thought of Porter having a thing for Wren. But he’s my friend and I don’t expect problems now that we’re coming out. “Ask him to come watch the game? There’s plenty of food.” “Yeah. I’ll text him.” Stout’s phone swooshes when he finishes typing. “We haven’t done anything together outside of work in a while.” I call out to Wren. “Come back in here, baby.” “That’s weird hearing you call my sister that.” It’s probably going to take some getting used to. Wren sinks into the sofa next to me. “I see everyone is still in one piece.” “He went easy on me.” “Only because he was very convincing about how much he cares for you.” Wren wraps her arm around mine and presses her cheek to my bicep. “I’m crazy about this guy.” Stout’s phone beeps. “Porter’s in. He’ll be here in ten.” He releases the latch and extends the foot of my recliner. “Porter finding out about the two of you should be fun. He’s been wanting to ask Lawry out since our sophomore year but I told him to forget it.” She’s still hands-off, but for a different reason now. This girl’s mine.

Stout closes the footrest of my recliner and heads toward the kitchen. “I’m getting some of my sister’s dynamite guacamole.” He’s right. The stuff is damn addicting. Vegan or not, Wren can tear it up in the kitchen. “Want a beer and something to eat?” “Yeah. I think I can manage to keep something down now we have that behind us.” I hadn’t realized she was so nervous. “You were that worried about Stout?” “I was worried for you and your partnership. I didn’t want to cause a rift between you.” “Judging by his face, he’s quite pleased with our union.” Jackass was all bark and no bite when it came to warning me to stay away from Wren. “You’re kidding me.” “Not a bit.” “He wants me to be happy. And I think it’s pretty easy to see that’s what I have with you.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Ditto.” I get up and pull Wren with me. “Come on. I want some guacamole before Stout finishes it off.” I’m going into the fridge for another beer when Porter comes into the house. “Want a beer?” “I’ll take an IPA if you have it.” I toss the glass bottle across the kitchen and Porter gracefully reaches out to catch it one-handed. Wren’s eyes widen. “Shit. Y’all are about dangerous.” Porter pops the cap. “Nah. It’s all good.” He takes a swig from his beer. “Stout didn’t say anything about you being in town.” “That’s because he didn’t know.” Porter’s eyes narrow and his forehead wrinkles. He’s a smart guy. Let's give him a minute and see if he figures it out on his own. He looks at the spread of food, Wren, Stout, and, lastly, me. “Motherfucker. You did exactly what I said you would. And judging by Stout’s calm demeanor, you’ve pulled it off successfully.” He makes it sound like a bit of a heist. Is he smiling? There was some thievery involved. Wren stole my heart. He’s quiet. Digesting the situation, Porter? “Well, congratu-fucking-lations.” He holds up his beer. “I propose a toast.” I’m a little taken aback by his reaction. I thought he’d give me a harder time. I’m actually thinking Porter has already moved on. He was protective of Wren, but not possessive. The four of our bottlenecks meet. “You know you’ve found true love when you catch yourself falling in love with the same person over and over again despite them being miles away from you.” We tap our bottles. “To Lucas and Lawrence. Break her heart and I’ll break your

fucking neck.” That’s more the response I was expecting. “Your toast was Pulitzer Prize worthy.” “You like that shit, huh? I have to make a toast at my cousin’s wedding in a couple of weeks. I’ve been preparing.” I guess that explains the pretty words out of Porter. Wren comes to stand between my legs and I wrap my arms around her waist. I can’t resist burying my nose in her hair and inhaling. Love her smell. Porter looks at Stout. “You’re okay with this?” Stout shrugs. “Sure. But what choice do I have?” “You okay with this?” Porter’s approval and support isn’t necessary but I’d like to have it. He shrugs. “I’m good if Stout is.” Thank, fuck. No more lies. No more deceit. No more sneaking around. No more pretending. Everything is finally coming together for Wren and me.

Lawrence Thorn

I’M TRAPPED IN SOME HALF-AWAKE, HALF-ASLEEP REALM WITHIN MY MIND. MY BODY SHAKES BECAUSE I’m sobbing so hard. Half asleep or not, I’m alert enough to know that much. As hard as I try, I can’t open my eyes. And I’m unable to escape the monsters until I do. “Wren.” My body is being shaken but my eyelids refuse to obey my brain’s command. If you open your eyes, Lawrence, your dolly goes in the garbage. “Wren.” Brou is hovering over me when I finally open my eyes. The room is dark except for the dim light of the lamp next to my bed. “Wake up, baby. You’re freaking me out.” Warm tears roll from my eyes into my hair and mucus rattles in my nose when I inhale. There’s a spasmodic contraction in my throat as I catch my breath. Damn. I was crying in my sleep again. “What was that?” I look around so I can get my bearings. This is my apartment in Savannah. My bedroom. Brou is with me. This is his weekend to come to me. I’m not in that trailer park where they can hurt me. “It was just a dream. Nothing’s wrong. I’m good.” “Don’t push me away, Wren. We’re more than this.” I don’t want this. I don’t want to talk about the things they did to us. I want to forget the first ten years of my life ever happened. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me what’s going on.” He won’t understand. He didn’t grow up like I did. “It was a nightmare about my birth mother.” “Tell me about it.” My childhood makes me feel ashamed. Embarrassed. I don’t know why. None of it was my fault. They are the ones who should be ashamed of what they did. “You can tell me.” I scoot close to Brou and press my face to his chest. “When we were kids, Santa didn’t exist for us.” Those words alone make me want to cry. “Christie and Jimmy were always broke from buying drugs and too lazy

to go sign us up for the angel tree at the mall. That meant Ollie and I didn’t wake up on Christmas morning and have presents to open like other kids.” “I’m sorry, baby.” “But there was this one Christmas when someone left each of us a present on the front porch.” I’d never been so happy in my life. I still don’t know who it was. “We thought we’d finally been good enough for Santa. Ollie got a fire truck with all the bells and whistles and I got a beautiful doll with long blonde hair I could brush. I named her Alexis. God, I loved that doll so much. Christie knew that so she took her from me, nailed her on the wall, and told me when I learned to be good she’d let me have her back.” Brou swears beneath his breath. “That was so cruel.” “I would sit in a chair and stare at Alexis on the wall. Sometimes I would push the chair up and try to touch her while Christie was gone but I could never quite reach her.” I think she did that on purpose. Hanging her just barely out of my reach. Brou reaches for my hand and brings it to his mouth for a kiss. “I did everything Christie wanted, believing she would give me back my doll if I was perfect. But that didn’t happen.” I inhale deeply before I begin the next part of the story. “One of her dealers came by to collect money she owed for drugs. Of course, she didn’t have it. That’s when she told me there was a way I could earn my doll back. All I had to do was be really nice to Malcolm and play some games with him. I was only ten but I knew what she meant.” Brou squeezes my hand and brings it to his forehead. “Nooo.” “I heard this inner voice telling me to run. Get out right then because something bad was going to happen if I didn’t. So I did. I ran and ran and ran. When I came back, Christie put me in the corner, took my doll off the wall, and made me watch her cut all of her hair off and draw on her face with a marker. That’s what I was dreaming about. Her and Alexis.” Brou pulls me closer and kisses my forehead. “I’m so sorry that happened, and I’m so sorry it still haunts you.” “Thank God we were taken out of the home within a couple of days. But not before I told Jimmy what she did with Malcolm and what she wanted me to do. He beat her to a pulp, so bad she could hardly walk, and I was happy about it.” I wish I could say Jimmy was acting as a protective father but I’d be fooling myself. It was probably more likely he was angry because Christie got dope and didn’t share it with him. “I’m not sure how you ever considered giving that woman a kidney. It makes absolutely no sense to me.” Most people would think I was out of my mind. “I didn’t stop hating them because they earned my forgiveness. It was about me and the peace I deserved. Hate is exhausting. Everything became easier when I decided to accept the apology they never gave me.” “You are an amazing woman.”

“Not amazing. Therapized.” Years of it. “Bridgette went to therapy after we lost Eli. I could never bring myself to do it.” Most men tend to see a need for therapy as weakness. Dumbasses. Thank God Ollie was too young to refuse. “You should have. It can facilitate some serious healing.” I can’t imagine what my life would be like today if Mom and Dad hadn’t taken me to Iris. They saved Ollie and me in more ways than one. The healing wasn’t instantaneous. Iris began by sweeping my broken pieces into a dustpan. But she didn’t throw them away. She carefully laid them out, cleaned each, and began a long process of matching them together like a puzzle until she finally showed me how to become whole again. Or for the first time. I was never whole while I was with Jimmy and Christie. I was so timid with Iris in the beginning. Well, all grownups in general. But I developed a faith in adults for the first time. Learned to trust in truth. Accept love from parents without manipulation. I couldn’t have been a joy to parent or counsel in the beginning. But they never gave up. And still haven’t. “It’s never too late to see a therapist.” I really think Brou could benefit, even ten years after losing his son. “Nah. I’m good.” Figures. Therapy or not, Brou’s still spectacular. “What about you, the husband who gave his wife a divorce so she could be with the man she loves? And then remains their best friend who dotes on their children. That’s pretty amazing.” “I never felt like I had to forgive them for anything. It was more like a relief for me. Nothing honorable about it.” I twist to see the clock. “We have to be up in a few hours. Want to try to get a little more sleep?” “Yeah. I need to be on top of my A game for meeting my girlfriend’s parents over breakfast.” “You know my parents and they already like you. A lot.” “I know Libby and Quentin as Oliver Thorn’s parents, but not as my girlfriend’s.” “You financially backed their son’s dream. I think you’re golden with them no matter what you do.” “This is different; I’m staying at your apartment. They’re going to know I’m getting under their daughter’s skirt. Your dad might not think I’m so golden when he considers that.” I twist so Brou can reach my lips with his. “Kiss me and then shut up and go back to sleep.” “Yes, ma’am.”

“I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING. WHEN, WHERE, HOW. ALL THE DETAILS OF HOW THIS CAME ABOUT.” MY mom is all smiles. I’m waiting for her to clap her hands like an excited toddler any minute. “We met at the beer festival a couple of months ago, hit it off pretty well, but decided it probably wasn’t a good idea to pursue anything because of Brou’s partnership with Ollie.” “You don’t have to explain that. We all know how protective he can be with you.” It’s never been a thorn in my side until Brou. But all seems to be well now. Maybe. Brou puts his hand on top of mine. So romantic. “I couldn’t stop thinking about Lawrence. I jumped at the chance to see her again when I found out Stout was coming for a visit. I completely crashed on his business meeting in Macon.” “So Lucas’s visit to Savannah is the real when, where, and how part of the story.” I still love how he walked into my shop and told me I had bewitched him. Best pickup line ever. “Oh, I love it. What a great story. What did my son say when you told him?” Mom has no idea how deeply Ollie opposed my relationship with Brou. For her to know that, we’d have to tell her about Brou’s history with women. I don’t think I want to go there. “Not super happy at first but he’s coming around.” Still working on that but it’s getting better. “Well, we think it’s wonderful. Don’t worry. He will too eventually.” “Thanks, Mom.” “I don’t know if I ever told you this or not but your father and I had a longdistance relationship for two years before we married. I stayed here and went to Georgia. Your dad, being the brilliant man he is, got a full scholarship to Texas A&M.” I knew Dad had graduated from Texas and they married right after finishing school but I never put two and two together. “How often did we see each other that year, Lib?” “Twice? Maybe three times during the school year?” Good grief. “We made it count when we were together,” my dad says. I know the feeling. “Twice a month doesn’t seem so bad when you consider that.” “It’s easier today with cell phones, Facetiming, email, skyping. We were limited to ten minute calls every few days.” “And letters.” “Lots of love letters, which have become obsolete in today’s world.” Such a

shame. “There’s something to be said for checking the mail every day, desperate for a perfume-scented letter from the woman you love.” My father cups his hand over my mother’s and I can’t help but think how wonderful it must be to walk through life with someone special by your side. I’ve thought all this time I was fine alone, and I am, but I look at Brou and see a potentially different future. One that includes him holding my hand over breakfast, maybe telling our children about the time we shared a long-distance relationship and made it work.

LIGHTS DIM. SOFT, SEDUCTIVE MUSIC. WARM OILS. I’M ALL SET TO GIVE BROU THE BEST MASSAGE OF HIS life. “On my stomach?” “No. Lie face up on the bed from side to side.” This rubdown isn’t going to be anything like what he’s expecting. I’m going to hit all his erogenous zones as well as the sexual trigger points. “Close your eyes and completely relax.” I begin at the top of his head, scratching his scalp with my nails, and he breaks into a smile. “You’re giving me goosebumps.” “Good. You’re the one getting them for a change.” I gently press the center of his forehead between his eyebrows and temples, the area known as the third eye. I gently hold pressure for a minute and then lightly rotate my fingers on his temples. It’s said this motion relieves tension and allows sexual excitement to flow. Guess we’ll see. “Doing okay?” “Mmm hmm.” I pour a generous amount of oil on my hands and rub them together. “Ready for me to move on to something a little more fun.” “Oh, yeah.” I climb onto the bed and kneel beside Brou. My finger circles the rim of his belly button for a moment before I move lower and gently press the Gate of Origin. “This opens sexual energy for when I move on to the erogenous zones.” “This feels pretty erogenous to me.” “This is just the beginning. I’m not even close to getting you turned on yet.” I

place the heel of my hand against the thick tendons in his groin, holding steady pressure. “So much more to come, baby.” My phone vibrates on the nightstand, interrupting my concentration and the mood. “Dammit.” I want to ignore it so badly. “It’s Wynter. I really need to take this.” She wouldn’t call unless it was something important. “Of course.” “Hello.” “Hey, Law. I’m sorry to bother you but I’ve got a problem at the store. There’s a woman here who claims to be your mother and is demanding to see you. I can’t close the store because she won’t leave. Do you want me to call the police?” Damn Christie. “No. I’ll be right there.” I end the call and inhale deeply before yelling at the top of my lungs. “Fuck!” Brou sits and rubs his hand down my arm. “What’s wrong?” I push my hands into my hair and press my temples. I’m the one who needs a massage. “I can’t believe this. Christie is in my shop demanding to see me.” “What the hell is wrong with that woman?” “She’s nuts.” “You took out the restraining order?” “Yeah, but a lot of good it’s done.” Brou moves off the bed and grabs his jeans from the floor. “I’m going with you.” I pull my shirt over my head and yank on my shorts. “Poor Wynter. I hate for her to be dragged into this mess. And you.” Brou wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “I’m not being dragged into anything. I’m voluntarily going in headfirst.” We enter the store and I find Christie lounging in one of my new patchwork chairs. “That’s for sale. Not for you to wallow all over.” “Hello, daughter. So good to see you.” Christie’s eyes dart toward Brou. “He’s the reason.” “No.” “Did you know she’s choosing to have your babies over saving her own mother?” She could have said anything but that. She looks back at me. “What kind of daughter chooses to let her mother die?” Might as well find out what she wants. “Why are you here?” “You won’t take my calls or answer the door when I come to your apartment. I had to do something to get your attention.” “You aren’t supposed to come within three hundred yards of me. Yet, here you are again. Do you want me to call the police?” “Call ’em. They won’t keep me; I’m a sick woman. All they have to do is find out I’m dying, and they’ll turn me loose in under an hour. No jail wants a terminally ill person in it. That means you can’t keep me away with a restraining order.” “Please, leave me alone, Christie.” “Never. Keep your damn kidney if you want but be prepared to pay dearly for it.

I’m going to make your life hell. Just like mine.” Nothing she says makes sense. It’s as though she blames me for her condition but I didn’t cause this. I point toward the door. “Get out. Now.” “Make me.” Christie’s face takes on an expression I’ve seen a thousand times. Pure evil. “Wynter, get the key for the front door.” Brou moves toward Christie and puts her in a bear hug from behind. “When I throw her ass out, you lock the door behind her.” “Get your hands off me. I’m sick.” I run to the front door as Brou drags her backward. “Yes, you are a very sick individual. And there’s a special place in hell for people like you.” Christie slams the back of her head against Brou’s face and blood instantly pours from his nose. He grunts and shakes his head. “Open that door.” Christie lifts her legs and kicks a shelf of oils causing them to crash to the floor. “This is assault. I’m filing charges.” Brou shoves her out the door and I quickly slam it and turn the deadbolt. “Oh my God. She’s completely lost her mind.” Brou wipes his nose and lifts it into the air as he holds pressure. “Damn.” “Are you all right?” “I’m mostly okay.” His voice is a groan. I know that had to hurt. I take Brou’s free hand and lead him to the bathroom. “I’m so sorry.” Even in the back of the store, we can hear Christie’s assault against the door. “She’s pretty damn strong for a sick woman.” “Should I call the police, Law?” Wynter asks. Brou grabs my wrist as I inspect his nose. “You have to; this shit with her can’t slide anymore. That woman is mentally unstable and every incident needs to be documented. She could be capable of worse.” I don’t like considering that possibility but he’s right. I’ve overlooked this for too long. “Call ’em, Wynter.” Spending one of our few nights together at the police station making a report about Christie isn’t the way I envisioned our evening going. “I’m so sorry we lost hours of precious time dealing with that. But I’m glad you were here.” Brou takes my hand in his and brings it to his mouth for a kiss. “I’m glad, too, so you didn’t have to face her alone.” With Brou, I never feel alone. Brou waggles his brows and uses his eyes to gesture toward the handcuffs on the officer’s waist. “We need some of those.” I shush him but flash a grin as I lift a brow. “I’d be up for that.” He taps the side of his head. “I’m putting that one in the vault. But until then, I can think of ways to improvise.” And that’s exactly what we do.

ANOTHER WEEKEND WITH BROU HAS COME AND GONE. NOW, IT’S BACK TO THE WAITING GAME. AGAIN. I’m so glad he was with me last night when Christie went nuts. Despite being thirty-one, I feel more like the broken, vulnerable child whenever Christie is near. When she went nuts last night, I felt rattled. However, it was undeniable how much calmer I felt having Brou there. And he wasn’t just physically with me. He was there for me emotionally as well. He’s becoming everything to me. My world. My days apart from Brou are mostly filled with work. When I’m not at the shop, I busy myself at the animal shelter or work on giving life to reclaimed furniture. It isn’t work to me. I enjoy the process. It’s therapeutic to take something abused and make it new again. Sort of like me. I rarely spend evenings alone. I always have dinner with my parents or Ivy and Kelsey. My free time is filled with friends and family. But I feel empty without Brou. I said I didn’t need a man to make me whole. And that’s still true. But I’ll be damned if I don’t feel like he takes a piece of me every time he goes. I lean against my front door and cry. Brou is on the other side, maybe still standing in the hallway waiting for the elevator. I didn’t walk with him to wait as I usually do; I felt the tears coming. I didn’t want him to see me cry. Saying goodbye is getting harder each time. I can’t stand it. Tears or not, I need one moment more with him. I open the door and dash down the hallway to catch him for one last embrace before he enters the elevator. “One more kiss.” He drops his bag on the floor and reaches for me, grasping my face in his hands as his mouth lands on mine. He pushes me against the wall and imprisons me in his embrace, as his lips own mine. “I hate leaving you.” “I didn’t know it was going to get harder every time.” I’m learning that’s how it goes when you’re in love. His lips are still touching mine. “I left something on the bed for you.” A big smiles spreads on my face. “What is it?” He leans away and wipes the tears that have fallen from my eyes. “You’ll see.” He places one last kiss against my lips. “I will see you in eleven days. Be thinking if you want to do Birmingham or meet somewhere in between. Maybe Macon or Atlanta. We can do a concert or show of some sort.” “Okay.” I blow a kiss to him as the elevator doors close and then dash to my bedroom to see what awaits me. A folded piece of paper.

Wren, I will miss you more this time than ever before. I’m falling hard for you. I hope you’re feeling the same.

Brou I read the two handwritten sentences over and over, smiling a little bigger each time. I don’t feel the same because I’m not just falling for him. I’m falling completely in love with him. I go to my desk and find my stationery so I may write my first ever love note. Brou, I love you.

Wren Three simple words. That’s all I need to say.

“SORRY I’M LATE, GUYS.” I HATE BEING LATE BUT IT WAS WITH GOOD REASON. I HAD A ROUGH TIME parting ways with Brou. “It’s okay. Your twenty-minute tardiness overshadows my ten-minute tardiness.” Ivy ain’t lying. I’m usually the one sitting at lunch waiting on her and Kelsey. I see they’ve gone with tea but I’m in the mood for something else. I think a Prosecco will do nicely. It’s my go-to for celebrating. Kelsey lifts her brows when I place my order. “Alcohol at noon? Someone either has really good or really bad news to tell us. But since you went with Prosecco I’m guessing it’s good.” “It’s really good.” Or at least I think it is. “I’m guessing it has something to do with a hot Cajun.” Indeed. “He left a note for me to find after he was gone.” Thinking about it gives me butterflies.

“A love note,” Ivy squeals. “And it says?” I take the folded paper from my bag and hold it out for them. Kelsey snatches it first and sticks her tongue out at Ivy. “Wren, I will miss you more this time than ever before. I’m falling hard for you. I hope you’re feeling the same. Brou.” Kelsey looks up. “At least that’s what I think it says. His handwriting is shit.” Ivy’s mouth drops. “Lawry. That’s as good as saying he loves you.” I think so too but I’m afraid of jumping the gun. “Are you sure?” “Com-fucking-pletely. You haven’t seen the way he looks at Lawry. It’s so . . . intense.” Ivy shakes her head. “I miss every damn thing because of my job.” “You love your nursing job.” Helping deliver babies must be so rewarding. I think I’d love that. “I love patient care. It’s all the other bullshit going along with it that I hate. And always missing out on stuff. You’ve been with Lucas for a while, and I still haven’t met him. You’re one of my best friends. We should have been introduced by now.” “Well, I’ve met him. And he’s hotter than a damn firecracker lit on both ends.” “Shut up.” Ivy gives Kelsey the finger. “Lawry, you just moved up from being one of my best friends to my only best friend since she’s being a dingleberry.” Ivy snatches the note from Kelsey’s hand. “Damn, she’s right. His penmanship looks horrible but these words are full of some serious sweetness.” “I wrote him back.” I take the sealed notecard from my bag and hold it up. “I was thinking I wouldn’t mention anything about his note and maybe drop this in the mail today so it’d be a surprise when it arrives.” “What does it say?” “Three words.” “More oral please?” Kelsey grins as though she’s so proud of her wittiness. Ivy punches Kelsey in the arm. “Stop being such a twat. This is important to Lawry.” Kelsey punches Ivy in return. They’re acting like three-year-olds. “I’m kidding. Lawry knows that. You do know that, right?” “Yeah, but I need advice. Do I send this or not?” I love you. You don’t trifle with words like those. “I say you do.” I knew Ivy would say yes. She lives for the white knight. The fairy tale. The happily ever after. Kelsey not so much. “You wrote those three words to him, which I assume are I love you, because you love him?” “I do.” “I see it like this. Love is like a wall you can’t climb or penetrate. The only way in is a swinging door. Sometimes you’re lucky enough it opens to let you in. But if you wait too long, it’s going to slam like a motherfucker in your face. You wouldn’t look great with a flat face so I say go for it.” “That was almost beautiful.”

Kelsey bows her head and holds her hands out, palm side up. She calls it her sitting curtsy. “I do my best.” Kelsey’s words may not be scholarly but she makes a good point. “I’m going for it.” ’Cause sometimes being strong is about following your heart. Taking chances. Stepping forward when the door swings open, before it slams and flattens your face. Because that would suck.

Lucas Broussard

IT’S BEEN TWO DAYS SINCE I LEFT WREN. AND THE NOTE ON HER BED. SHE HASN’T MENTIONED A SINGLE word about it. I must admit I expected some kind of prompt response—and a happy one. Hell, I thought I’d get a call before I made it out of Savannah. Guess I misjudged the fuck out of where we are in our relationship. It was way too soon for talk of love. I shouldn’t have brought up falling for her. She wasn’t ready. And now I’m afraid I’ve ruined everything with her. “You have mail, boss. And it smells like a woman,” Molly says as she tosses an envelope on my desk. My heart pounds when I see the return address. My sweet Wren. I don’t know if I should be happy or scared shitless. “Only one way to find out.” I slide my envelope opener through the fold and sniff the inside before removing the note. Lavender and vanilla. Smells just like my Wren. My heart pounds as I slide the piece of paper out and unfold it to read her words. I love you. There it is in black and white. Those three simple little words I was desperate to hear. Or in this case, see. Lawrence Thorn loves me. And it scares the hell out me. But makes me the happiest man in the world. I close my office door and dial her number. “Hello, Brou. To what do I owe this call in the middle of the day?” “I wanted to tell you I just got your note.” “And?” “I love you, Wren.” There. I’ve said it. And it’s a fucking relief. I like the way it sounds so much I think I’ll say it again. “I. Love. You.” “I love you, too.” There’s only one thing that would make this moment better. “I really wish you were here so I could show you.” It’s only been two days, yet I want her already. Not just sex. Her. Being with her. “I know. Being apart is not fantastic.”

“Maybe we should have a serious conversation about that and maybe come up with a way to relieve the problem.” Only one of two options will solve the distance issue we have. “I would love to have that discussion with you.” “Could I talk you into coming to Birmingham instead of meeting halfway next time? I’ve been thinking I’d love to take you home and introduce you to my family. My mom is having a fit to meet you.” Josette Broussard smells fresh meat. A potential daughter-in-law. Nothing would make her happier than me bringing a woman home to meet her. She refuses to accept my decision to never marry again. And she would stomp my ass into the ground if she knew about the vasectomy. Wise decision to only tell Bridgette and Warren. And now Wren. “I would love to meet your family.” I already knew Libby and Quentin, so I didn’t have to do the meet the parents thing with them. Taking her to my parents’ home is a big step. At twenty-nine years old, it’s a bold statement. One that says hey, this is my woman. I fucking love it. “Gotta run, baby. Meeting in five but I couldn’t go without calling you first.” I want to tell her again. “I love you.” “Love you too. Talk soon.” I did it. Told her I loved her and proposed having a conversation about spending less time apart. I hope she’s open to that prospect. I don't want to be without her anymore.

THIS WEEKEND’S VISIT WITH WREN WILL BE DIFFERENT. WE’VE SAID THOSE THREE WORDS. AND NOW we’re going to have a conversation about where things go next. Damn, this has been a whirlwind from the start but she’s everything I want and need. I can’t stand the thought of letting her slip through my fingers. I’m at the back of the house practicing my archery skills on a deer target when I hear the crunch of gravel beneath tires. She’s finally here. We crash against each other, my mouth on hers. I lift Wren from the ground and spin her in a full rotation. God, I’ve missed having her in my arms. “It felt like this weekend would never get here.” “I know. This whole week moved at snail speed.” I release her and she eyes my camouflage clothing before tugging on my shirt.

“What’s with this?” “I was in the woods with my brother and dad this morning. Bow season started this week.” “Oh.” “I didn’t kill anything. Didn’t even try since I knew you were coming. I was just along for the ride.” “Good. Bambi lives another day.” Once inside, we sink into the sofa. “Mom is cooking for us.” “No Bambi, I hope.” She might on any other night. “No. She knows you’re vegan and prefer organic. She said she’d come up with something.” “I hate for her to cook two meals just to accommodate me. She’ll think I’m a pain in the ass right off the bat.” “It’s not a big deal; she wants to do it.” She is literally about to come unglued to meet Wren. “What time are we going?” “As soon as you’re ready.” “Shit. They’re waiting on us?” “I told Mom you’d get here earlier but it’s fine, Wren.” Wren pokes out her bottom lip. “Awe, we don’t have time to fool around.” “Not before we go over there but there’ll be plenty of time for that when we get back.” “I’m nervous.” “You shouldn’t be. We’ve fooled around a lot.” Wren punches me in the arm. “Not that, smart-ass. About meeting your family.” I squeeze her thigh and kiss the side of her neck. “Maybe you should let me help you loosen up first. They can wait a little longer.” “God, no. I won’t have them waiting on us longer than necessary. I’m already a bundle of nerves. That would just add to the mix.” Can’t blame a man for trying. “Don’t be nervous, baby. They’re going to adore you, especially my mother. She’s been surrounded by men for years and has no daughters, so she’ll welcome you with open arms.” “She wants daughters-in-law?” And grandchildren. “Yes, and she makes no bones about it.” “Well, I need to change and get ready since I’m sure she doesn’t want one who looks like this.” Hmm. That sounds very much like Wren just referred to herself as my mother’s potential daughter-in-law. I’m considering how to address Wren’s statement when she interrupts my thought. “Should I wear something dressy?” “Definitely not. My family is casual all the time.” “Good. You know I’m not all about dressing up.” I grab her bag and carry it to my bedroom, depositing it on the bed. Wonder if

she’ll like what I’ve done. “I cleared a drawer in the bathroom and one in the chest of drawers for you if you’d like a place for your things.” A huge smile spreads on her face before she comes to me. “Brou, that is so sweet.” She comes up on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Thank you.” “You’re very welcome.” “Mind if I hang out back here while you get ready?” “I’d love that.” She presses her lips to mine again before stepping away and unpacking. “Can I hang this stuff in the closet so it doesn’t wrinkle?” “Put everything you want in the closet on the bed and I’ll take care of it for you while you get ready.” “Thanks, babe.” “No more problems out of Christie?” “Nothing, thank goodness. I still feel bad about your nose.” I’m seriously surprised she didn’t break it. She fought me like a wildcat. That damn woman is crazy as hell. I can’t believe Wren and Stout are genetically tied to her. “It’s fine. But promise you’ll call if you have any more problems with her.” “I will. Promise.” “How was your drive?” “Long. I hit a huge stretch of road construction. Traffic was backed up for miles.” I hit that same stretch last time I drove to Savannah. I’m afraid it’s going to be like that for a while. “I thought you were running late.” Wren stops brushing and spits. “Yeah, it was horrible. Probably cost me an hour.” We’ll need to look for an alternate route. I rack and hang her clothes and then sit on the bed where I have a view of her getting ready at my bathroom vanity. I watch her with avid curiosity. Applying makeup. Fixing her hair. Slipping out of one outfit and into another with the discarded one folded into a neat square on the counter. “Why are you watching every move I make?” “I’ve never watched a woman get ready.” “How’s that possible? You were married.” “We didn’t share a bedroom or bathroom.” Wren stops glossing her lips to look at me. “Never?” “Never. She took the master and I took the guest.” “That’s so weird. Did anyone know you lived like that?” “Wasn’t anyone’s business what we did or didn’t do.” “I suppose not.” Wren finishes the last coat of gloss on her lips. “Ready. Do I look all right?” Crazy print dress. Boots. Headband. Jewelry encased with what I guess are healing stones. The look is very fitting for Wren. “You look beautiful.” I lift the necklace from her neck. “What is this stone?” “Lapis.”

“What is the healing property?” “It’s said to balance the heart and mind, especially when they’re running overtime.” “Your heart and mind are running overtime?” “Very much so.” “Mine, too.” She offers her hand, and in it, a bright blue stone. “I was hoping you might be feeling the same. That’s why I brought this for you.” I take the stone and study it. Looks like nothing more than a small blue egg to me. “What do I do with it?” “Put it in your pocket.” I don’t know if I believe a rock in my pocket will help sort the feelings I have but I’ll do it because Wren believes it will. “Thank you.” I push the stone down into my jeans. “You’re being strategic, having me place that so close to the part of my brain working overtime when you’re around.” Wren shakes her head as she slips her bag over her shoulder. “You’re so bad.” “Just being honest, babe. I’d prefer to ditch my family, toss you in the middle of the bed, and stay there for the next three days.” “We’ll see about fulfilling the last two parts of that preference after we get back from your parents’.” Hell, yeah. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

MOM HASN’T STOPPED SMILING SINCE WE GOT HERE. MAYBE EVEN DAD, TOO. I THINK THEY’RE AS mesmerized with Wren as I am. “You’ve been a business partner with Lawrence’s brother for four years. How in the world have you two missed running into each other until a few months ago?” “I’m probably to blame for that. I haven’t come to visit Ollie much since I opened my shop.” Wren is a dedicated businesswoman. I respect that. My dad cups his hand over my mom’s. “All things happen in good time. You know that well, mon cher.” “Indeed, I do.” They’re referring to my brother. My parents were high school sweethearts. Mom got pregnant her senior year. Neither of them felt prepared to marry or raise a baby so they jointly chose adoption. They stayed together after giving up their son and married three years

later. It’s been thirty-five years and they’re still trying to find him. Not an easy thing to do with sealed adoption records. I agree with what my dad said. All things happen in good time. Meeting Wren four years ago would have been disastrous. “I would have been in the middle of the divorce if we’d met when my partnership with Stout was in the early stages. I’m glad it worked out as it did.” “Luc.” My mom scrunches her nose and shakes her head. She disapproves of something I’ve said. “What, Mom?” “It’s in bad taste to bring that up in front of Lawrence.” She means the divorce. She hates discussing Bridgette, period. “It’s okay, Mom. Lawrence knows everything about Bridgette and me from start to finish. No need to pretend it didn’t happen.” “Maybe so, but as your girlfriend, she may not want to be reminded you were once married to someone else.” I suppose any other woman might be upset by the mention of it. But not my girl. Wren reaches for my hand beneath the table. “It’s okay. I understand Bridgette was, and still is, a large part of Brou’s life. We’ve met, and I like her very much.” My mom’s smiling. Guess Wren said something she likes. But Josette Broussard isn’t a fan of Bridgette. I doubt she’d grin about Wren speaking in her defense. I bet she likes Wren’s nickname for me. She and my dad have always had pet names for one another. Jojo and Obi. She’d think Wren calling me Brou is sweet. The same with me calling her Wren. An indicator of things moving forward, the only direction she wants for me. Funny how naturally you can fall into certain patterns with some people in your life. “Most women wouldn’t be so understanding of their relationship.” We no longer discuss it but I know my mother still feels Bridgette and Warren betrayed me. She’s never said so but I suspect she’s bitter they married and had children. “It was an unfortunate situation but Lucas and Bridgette came out as friends on the other side. Good friends. That doesn’t happen often. I think it’s a true testament to their natures.” “My son is an exceptional man for the way he handled himself through that entire situation, from the moment he found out Bridgette was pregnant.” That’s so far from what really happened. No one knows the real truth. “Mom . . .” “It’s true, Luc. A lot of grown men don’t stand by the mothers of their children the way you did.” I can’t stand hearing my mom’s praises for the wonderful way she believes I handled the situation with Bridgette. “Okay, I’m sure Lawrence has heard plenty about all of that.” Wren scoots away from the table. “Where is your restroom?”

“Down the hallway, first door on the right.” “Luc, she’s lovely. I can see why you love her.” I’m happy to hear my mother’s approval. “She’s pretty fantastic.” “That hippie is a hot piece of ass,” Briac says. “Bri . . .” There’s a warning in Mom’s voice. I lift a brow at my brother. “You don’t know the half of it.” “I’m being serious, Luc. I think she could be exactly what you need.” “Exactly what I need for what?” “A wife. A mother for your children.” I can’t argue with her. Wren would make a wonderful wife and mother. If I ever wanted to marry and have children, Wren would be the one. But I don’t. And I’m terrified it’s going to cost me our relationship in the end. She didn’t make it an issue even after Bridg opened her big mouth. Surely we’re on the same page? Losing Wren . . . that would crush me. I wouldn’t know how to let her go. She’s a part of me now. How do you relinquish a piece of yourself? I almost didn’t survive the last time I lost a part of myself. It changed me forever. Can’t go through that again.

I STOP BEFORE WE REACH THE BED SO I CAN KISS HER—JUST A SIMPLE, SWEET, ROMANTIC TOKEN OF MY affection. “Keeping my hands off you has been very difficult tonight.” “I know. I enjoyed being with your family but I’ve been dying to get back here.” “They adored you, just as I knew they would.” Maybe a little too much. “I like your parents a lot. And Briac too.” “Good.” I move to her neck and hit that spot just below her ear, the one that always sends chills down her spine. “They have a truly amazing story.” Figures she’d tell Wren. “Do you think that’s why she’s so proud of the way you handled Bridgette being pregnant?” “Probably.” “Did that play a big part in your decision?” “I guess.” “Want me to hush about it?”

“Yes.” I grasp the bottom of her dress and pull it up and over her head. I’m not waiting another minute to have her. I palm and squeeze her breasts gently while kissing her neck and slowly move my lips down to her shoulder. Let’s get this bra off so I can touch her thoroughly. My mouth migrates to the space between her breasts, and I can’t resist pushing them together and rubbing my face in them. She loves when I do that. I love when I do that as well. I move lower and drop to my knees in front of her. Worshipping her body with my mouth. Fingers in my hair. Panting breath. She likes what I’m doing. My tongue swipes once, then a second time over her belly button. “Everything from my nipples down to the tips of my toes tingles.” “Tingling isn’t the only thing I’m going to make you do.” One finger slides inside the front of her panties. Just one so my fingertip can softly stroke her clit in a come-hither motion. She quickly gets wet for me so I wrap my hand around her hipbone and kiss her stomach before my mouth moves in a more southern direction. This is never the best position for what I’m about to do. I already know I’m not going to accomplish my goal this way but I can’t resist starting out with licking her to jumpstart things. I want her to want me so much she can hardly stand it. “Brouuu.” I swipe my tongue up her slit while she squirms in an attempt to part her legs. “Want more?” “Yes. A lot more.” “Good, ’cause I plan on giving you as much as you want for as long as you want it.” I won’t quit when I’m tired. I’ll quit when we’re done. I guide her to sit on the edge of the bed and lift each leg so I can hook them over my shoulders. I bury my nose in her crotch and inhale deeply. “I can never get enough of this.” “And I can never get enough of seeing your mouth on me.” Wren’s language is mostly tame. Sometimes I want to tell her to stop being so fucking polite and just say what she’s thinking. I believe I will. “Tell me you love it when I lick your pussy.” She drags her nails through my hair and wriggles. “Brou . . .” “Or your hot cunt. I love both so it’s your choice.” “Brou . . .” “Come on, baby. You can do it.” I lean forward and lick her up the center. “Tell me.” She hesitates a moment and wears a timid smile. “I love it when you . . . lick my pussy.” Motherfucker, that is hot. “Now, tell me you want me to eat your cunt.” “Brou!”

it.

“You’ve got this, baby. You can do it.” She drags her nails across my scalp a couple times. Stalling. Come on, Wren. Say

She draws a deep breath. “I want you to . . . eat my cunt.” Her sexy-as-fuck words are followed by a breathless moan, instead of the timid giggle I was expecting. She likes this game. And that’s a turn-on. “My sweet, Wren, I’m turning you into a naughty-talking sex freak who likes to watch my head bob between your legs.” “Yes, you dirty bastard. You’ve ruined me. I’ll never want to be with another man because I know he can’t make me feel the way you do.” That’s the way I want it. The thought of another man putting his mouth on any part of Wren drives me insane. “I’m the only man who touches you. The only one who tastes you.” I rub my thumb down her slit. “The only one who licks this pussy.” She nods and whispers, “Yes.” I flatten my tongue and drag it upward several times before pushing her legs back and apart. I love when she squirms beneath me. The way she tilts and lifts her hips, cueing me to what she wants. Move faster. Apply more pressure. Change motion. “Ohhh . . . right there’s the spot. That feels so good.” I obey verbal cues as well. She grasps the top of my hair and tugs to bring me closer. “Right there, Brou. Just like that. Don’t stop.” A moment later, the grip on my hair tightens and her entire body tenses as she shouts, “Ohh . . . ohh.” “That didn’t take long.” I begin at her ankles and kiss my way up her inner legs. “It’s been almost two weeks. I was ready for that.” I can’t suppress the grin spreading on my face. “This next part isn’t going to happen so fast. I plan on taking my time with you. Who knows? This could take all night.” “Promise?” “Yes.” I stop to kiss the top of her pubic bone. “Always smooth.” “One place I don’t go all natural.” I rub my hand over her slick skin. “I love it like this.” “And I love the feel of your beard against me down there. Best sensation ever.” I love the way she says down there. Like she’s so innocent. Wholesome. I move my face from side to side so the stiff hair tickles her. “Like that?” “Yesss.” I continue up her stomach until I reach her breasts and rub my chin hair over her nipple. “Like it other places too?” She sucks air in through her teeth. “Ohh, that is so sensitive.” I move upward until my mouth is on the side of her neck and push her hands over her head. “Turn over for me, baby.” She rolls to her stomach, hands still over her head, and I kiss the back of her

neck. “I love the way that feels.” “I know.” I slowly move my way down her body, not daring to leave a single spot neglected. I want her driven crazy and covered in goosebumps. I move farther down, beyond her lower back, and nibble her ass cheek. “What are you doing back there?” She giggles. “Get on your knees but keep your head down.” I rub my hand over the spot I just nipped with my teeth. “That sounds a little kinky. Or a lot kinky.” “Maybe. And I bet you’ll love it.” I use my knees to push her legs apart so my mouth is on her from behind. “Oh,” she grunts. I lick her until she’s rocking against my mouth and panting. Desperate. So close to coming apart. But I have ulterior motive. “You’re not getting off like this again. I did this to build you up so you’ll come around my dick next time.” I love it when her body clenches mine. Leaning in close to her ear, I growl, “Was going to take you from behind. But, want to see your eyes. Roll over. Now.” She flips over and I lie on top of her so we’re face to face. I run my hands down the length of her arms until I find her hands and lift them over her head. Our fingers are entangled. Love holding her like this. She doesn’t take her eyes from mine—doesn’t even blink—when I enter her. But I see the look, the one that tells me how good it feels to have me inside her. Parted lips opening to a full O. Hooded lids. I can never mistake that look of pleasure for any other. She brings her legs up and around me so I’m moving deeper inside her. Close is never close enough. I always want her nearer. I prop my weight on my elbows and cradle her head inside my lower arms while I stare into her eyes. This is different. So different. Never realized how fucking incredible it is to be inside the woman you love. “I love you, Wren.” Our hands are still fisted above her head as I continue slowly moving inside her. Now it’s her squeezing my hands tighter. “I love you, too, Brou.” I close my eyes and press my forehead to hers. “Sometimes it feels like I’ll die before I get to see you again.” “I know. It’s the same for me. I hate being apart.” I pump slowly and deliberately. I covet every second Wren’s body squeezes my dick, as each thrust brings me closer to climax. I press a kiss to her lips. “I love being inside you.” She clutches her arms and legs around me, locks her ankles behind my back, and holds so tightly I couldn’t free myself if I tried. “Come inside me, Brou.” Come inside me, Brou. Those words. They’re my fucking undoing. My body obeys, releasing every drop I have reserved especially for her. I give it freely. Always so good. When I’m spent, Wren releases her legs and lets them fall apart so I can nestle

between them while still inside her. I love when we lie like this, both of us wet with my cum, and still joined as one. “Let’s talk about how we can make this happen more often, like anytime we want.” “I’m up for that.” Here we go. No turning back now.

Lawrence Thorn

BROU SHIFTS SO HIS ARMS, INSTEAD OF MY BODY, TAKE THE BRUNT OF HIS WEIGHT. “I WANT TO BE WITH you, like this, every day. Not just six days each month.” It sounds like even less time together when you put it in that perspective. His hair falls forward and I push it back so I can clearly see his eyes. Those damn beautiful blue magnets. They suck me in every time I look into them. “That’s what I want too.” “This is stating the obvious but one of us has to relocate if we’re going to make that happen.” “But it won’t be you.” Another obvious fact even if he’s not saying it. “I’m sorry, Wren. I can’t. Everything I have is tied up in this company. Stout and Porter depend on me. I’m not in a place where I can walk away.” “I understand.” I would never ask him to give up what he has at Lovibond. It’s too successful to abandon. “I know I’m being a selfish bastard, but I’m asking you to come here to be with me.” “And do what with my shop? Law of Attraction isn’t a multimillion-dollar company like Lovibond but it earns plenty for me. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Walking away from all I’ve accomplished wouldn’t be easy.” But I might be willing to do it for a future with Brou. “I’ve been thinking about your options. Seems to me you have three. One: hire another employee, maybe two, depending on how the books look. Let Wynter take over your role. You become a fixture in the background and oversee things from a distance.” “I don’t like that idea at all. It requires me to fully trust people with my business. My money. I don’t think I can do that.” I trust no one wholly except Ollie. “Okay. Option two: relocate the shop to Birmingham.” I have concerns about the success of a shop like mine in a town like Birmingham. “I do a ton of business with tourists on River Street. I’m not sure it could stay afloat here.” “Option three: sell the shop. You can find work here, maybe at Lovibond. Or not

at all. Just come be with me and I’ll take care of you.” Take care of me? I could never give up my financial independence. I always need a way out. “None of these options are ideal.” “I’m all ears if you have something else in mind; I want you to be happy. But I want you to be happy with me.” That’s the thing. I can’t think of a better option. “Coming here means giving up my business. My home. All my friends and family, except Ollie. Mostly everything.” “Your sacrifice doesn’t go unnoticed. As much as I hate to see you give up the things you love, I’m a selfish bastard. I want you here with me every day. Every night.” I want that too. But do I want it more than the life I’ve established? I can’t walk away from everything without some kind of promise. “If I do this, give up my life in Savannah to come here, what kind of commitment are you making to me?” “What kind of commitment do you want?” “I’d like to know you plan on having a future with me. I can’t give up everything, come here, and have this end in six months or a year.” “I wouldn’t ask you to do all of this if I didn’t want this to be long-term.” “Does long-term include asking me to marry you? Have children?” Brou moves off me so we’re side by side. “Whoa, Wren. Where is this coming from?” Is he really surprised I’m bringing up these things? I’d be a fool if I didn’t. “I’m asking you to be honest with me, and yourself, about our relationship and where you see it going.” “I love you and I want to be together. That’s all that matters.” There’s so much more to this and if he can’t see that, we have a problem. “I love you, but I need to know where you see our relationship when you picture us a year from now. Five. Ten.” I’d be crazy to give up my life without asking the hard questions. “I see us together and happy.” Not specific enough. “I’m not asking for a marriage proposal or babies today. I’m not ready for either of those things right now but I need to hear you say both aren’t completely off the table in the future.” He rolls away so he’s flat on his back looking at the ceiling instead of me. “You’ve knocked me for a loop, Wren. I wasn’t expecting this conversation tonight. I’m not prepared for it.” Could he not predict I’d want to have a heart-to-heart about marriage and babies since we’re talking about completely uprooting my life? “Not today, or tomorrow, but one day I plan on being married. I want to have my husband’s babies. There’s no need in leaving my life behind to come here if you are already certain you’ll never consider marrying me or reversing the vasectomy.” He runs his hands through his hair and growls. “You wouldn’t want me for a husband. I was horrible.” “You were never a husband. Just a nineteen-year-old kid who knocked up your

best friend and then married her because you thought it was the right thing to do.” It was destined to fail from the start. “You don’t want kids with me. I was a horrible father.” “You didn’t get the chance to be a father.” “You don’t know the terrible things I did, the awful words I said and thought, before Eli was born.” I’m sure no nineteen-year-old kid is stoked about becoming a father. “Then tell me and I’ll be the judge.” He places the palms of his hands over his eyes so his fingers wrap around his forehead into his hair. “Bridgette told me she was pregnant and my first response was denial. I told myself she was wrong. There was no way. We only did it once. But that only got me by until she showed me the pregnancy test.” I think denial is an appropriate response. No harm in that. “Next was feeling sorry for myself because I was going to be forced to give up my freedom and all the fun I was having. Instead of partying, I’d be working, married to someone I wasn’t in love with, and taking care of a baby I didn’t want. I pretended I was a standup guy and happy to do the right thing but I wasn’t. I put off marrying Bridgette for months because I hoped she’d lose the baby so we could call off the wedding. I wished my own kid away. And it came true.” This is his darkness. He’s finally showing it to me. That’s a terrible burden to carry. “You can’t possibly think Eli’s death was your fault.” “Eli was given a death sentence the moment he was conceived. I know that, but you can’t imagine the guilt I’ve carried over how little value I placed on his life in those early months.” “You were a kid with immature thoughts.” Completely expected. “Bridgette was about halfway through the pregnancy the first time I saw him on the sonogram. We found out he was a boy and decided to name him Eli. I felt his tiny body moving inside Bridg and everything changed. Instead of being a problem I wanted to be rid of, he became my son. I loved him, and I desperately wanted him to live.” “Of course, you did.” “Even though my feelings changed, and I came to love him, I’ll never forgive myself for wishing him away. It’s a guilt I’ll carry for the rest of my life.” “You have to forgive yourself.” He says nothing as he stares at the ceiling. I have to convince him he’s worthy of being happy. Being a husband. Fathering another a child. I climb over him so I can hold his face. See his eyes. “Brou. You deserve happiness.” “And you do too.” “Then let’s be happy together.” My eyes are locked on his but he breaks the connection by closing his lids. “I fear you want things I can’t give you.”

Can’t or won’t? There’s a difference. “Are you telling me you will never consider marriage or reversing the vasectomy?” His answer will dictate the rest of this relationship. I’m terrified; I know how decided he has been about both issues. But that was before me. Before us. We’re so damn good together. But I won’t give up my dream. The fairy tale exists, and I’m going to fight for it. “Think hard and make sure you mean what you say before you answer.” Either way. “I can’t do it, Wren.” Again with the can’t. He could at least use the correct term and say won’t. My heart fractures down the middle and shatters into a million shards. “I want nothing more than to be with you every day but I’d be lying to get you here if I said I would consider getting married again or reversing the vasectomy.” The saddest discovery you can ever make is realizing you’ve fallen truly, madly, and deeply in love with a dream that will never be. My mistake. I didn’t need a marriage proposal tonight or a promise to give me a child. All I wanted to see was some kind of compromise on Brou’s part so I didn’t feel like I was the only one conceding. Instead, I see how content he is to make no concessions while I give up everything. I slide to the side of the bed. “Where are you going?” “Bathroom.” The door barely shuts before the warm droplets slide down my cheeks. I can’t be with a man who uses the past to dictate his future. Or one who cares so little about me, he’s unwilling to compromise. It took a while but I finally love myself too much to settle for that. It required years of counseling to get to this place but I know what I want for my future. Part of me wants to cry out, “Why am I not enough?” Maybe even throw a kicking tantrum. But I am wise enough to know this isn’t really about his inability to compromise. He’s never truly dealt with the loss. And it is my heart that will have to break because of it. I won’t get my happily ever after with this amazing man. There it is. A miserable end to our epic love story. I feel so cheated. It was only the beginning. But it’s wise to end it now. I hate these falling tears. I hate this pain. I hate this ache in my chest. Brou taps on the bathroom door as I’m pulling on a T-shirt and pair of jeans I found in my bag. “Everything okay in there, baby?” No. Nothing is okay. I clear my voice so I won’t sound like I’ve been crying. “I’ll be out in a minute.” I finish dressing and pull my hair into a knot before stuffing my things into my bag. Shit. I have to get all those clothes hanging in his closet.

I open the bathroom door and come face to face with Brou, his eyes scanning my clothing. His mouth opens and he shakes his head. I see torment. It possibly mirrors mine. “No, no, no. Wren, you’re not doing this.” He catches my arm but I pull it from his grasp. “I am.” “Please don’t.” I place my bag on the bed and go into the closet to fetch my clothes. “I won’t try to drive back to Savannah tonight since it’s so late. I’ll stay at Ollie’s until morning.” He stands at the closet doorway as I pull clothing from hangers. “Please don’t leave me, Wren. I love you.” “Not enough.” He blocks me from leaving the closet. “Don’t say that.” “Love is about give and take. Meeting halfway in the middle. If I come here, your life stays the same while everything in mine changes. I was content with that as long as you were willing to consider thinking about the two things I want. No promises. No guarantees. I only asked you to think about them but you won’t even do that. I can’t be with someone unwilling to compromise.” “I’m sorry, Wren. You picked the two things in my life where a middle ground doesn’t exist.” “I’m sorry too because it’s a deal breaker for me.” I step around him and place my clothing in my bag. This is it. There’s nothing left to say unless he changes his mind. Brou comes closer and pulls me into his arms, pressing his forehead to mine. “You have no idea how badly I want to give you everything your heart desires. But I can't. And it’s killing me. My heart is breaking.” “Mine too.” I thought he loved me enough to try harder than this. “This shouldn’t be happening. We ought to be in bed making love instead of breaking up.” “Something we can agree upon.” Brou holds the sides of my face and kisses my forehead. “This isn’t right. I love you and want you to stay.” I could have waited until morning but I don’t see the point if he isn’t changing his mind. “I love you too but I have to leave. You’ve given me no choice.” “This is it? No more weekends? No more . . . anything?” No. No more Lucas Broussard in my life. And that’s more than a damn shame. “What’s the point when we’re going nowhere? It’ll only cause me more pain if I don’t end things now.” I can’t carry on knowing it will only keep ripping out my heart. “Just because we’re not walking down the aisle doesn’t mean we’re not going anywhere. Lots of couples are happy without being married and having kids.” He hasn’t heard me. “But that’s not what I want.” Being with Brou only confirms it more. I want his

heart forever, and I want his children. “I can’t change your mind?” “I can’t change yours?” “Then I guess there’s nothing else for me to say.” Brou releases his hold and follows me to the car, carrying my bag. He opens the driver’s door but closes it before I’m able to get inside. “Fuck, I don’t want this. Saying goodbye to you is killing me.” I could throw my arms around him and say screw marriage and kids because all I want is him. But I’d be cheating myself. And lying. I place my hands on his face, my palms against his beard. Oh, God, this is the last time I’ll touch him like this. “I love you, Lucas Broussard.” “And I love you, Lawrence Thorn.” His eyes are locked on mine. “Kiss me before you go. Please.” One last kiss won’t hurt. I lick my lips and it’s all the permission he needs. His mouth lands on mine, and he pulls my body hard against his. His kiss is slow, romantic, yet dominant. Different from all our others. This is a goodbye kiss. And it’s shattering my heart all over again. When he releases me, his forehead is pressed to mine. “If you change your mind, I will be right here, waiting for you.” I’m not settling. If he wants me, it’ll be on my terms. “You know where to find me if you change yours.”

“OH, OLLIE.” I LAUNCH MYSELF INTO MY BROTHER’S ARMS WHEN HE OPENS HIS FRONT DOOR. He wraps his arms around me and pets the back of my hair. Same thing he did when we were kids in an attempt to soothe me. “I’m gonna kill that fucker. What did he do to you?” My chest is spasming to catch my breath. “Not . . . what . . . you . . . think.” “Well, something happened and I doubt you’d be here if he weren’t the root of the problem.” Ollie takes my bag from my shoulder and ushers me to the couch. “Tell me what he did, Lawry. The truth. Don’t sugarcoat it to protect him.” “Nothing bad.” “You sitting here crying your eyes out says otherwise. It’s not convincing me I shouldn’t go kick his ass right now.”

Ollie doesn’t know how serious our relationship has gotten so this may come as a surprise. “Brou told me he loved me last week. And I told him the same.” “I’m not surprised. He told me a while ago he thought he was in love with you.” I didn’t know that. “We agreed to take this weekend to talk about our future. Decide where we wanted things to go next.” One part of me wishes we’d never started that conversation. I was happy. I almost wish we could have stayed in that cocoon we’d built together. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t forever. “Tap being open to discussing a future with you blows my mind. But I take it that didn’t go over well since you’re here crying, so what did he say?” “We started out discussing who would relocate. I already knew going in it would be me because he can’t leave Lovibond. And that’s fine. I was willing to move for him but not without some kind of commitment.” “Oh, God. The C word.” I punch Ollie in the arm. Hard. “You, asshole! You’re siding with him.” “Oww.” He rubs his bicep. “I’m not siding with Tap over you. I said that because I assume your idea of commitment is marriage, and I know how he is about that.” “What do you know about it?” “Says he’ll never marry or have children. I’ve heard him say it at least a dozen times.” “You know, I didn’t expect a proposal or babies right now. I asked him to be open to considering them in the future.” Not really even a commitment if you think about it. Consideration isn’t pledging anything to me. “Lawry, you asked him for the two things he’s adamant he never wants.” “I thought he might reconsider if he loved me enough.” I was wrong. “Both of those things caused him a lot of pain in the past. He’s terrified of going there again.” He has never sorted through the guilt from an adult’s point of view. He still sees everything from a teenage boy perspective. Self-focused. He’s terrified because he’s not analyzed his marriage or the death of his baby with knowledge and wisdom. “If he can’t stop making decisions based on the past, we can’t be together.” End of story. End. Of. Us. Period. I’ve been through some hard shit in my life. But I’m certain the hardest thing I'll ever do is walk away from Lucas Broussard, still loving him.

Lucas Broussard

I TWIRL WREN’S NOTE BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN MY TWO FINGERS AS I READ THE SCRIBBLED BLACK INK over and over. I love you. How can those three damn words break my heart every time I look at them? I do this to myself every day. The pain forces me to remember how good we were together. Until I fucked it up. I bring the note to my nose and inhale. Six months have come and gone since Wren left me but the paper still faintly smells like lavender and vanilla. Just like her. I’m surprised I haven’t sniffed away every bit of essence. But it wouldn’t matter. My house is permeated with that fragrance. I’ve filled it with candles and oil diffusers. I walk around smelling like damn flowers and cookies. Fuck, I miss her. Time isn’t making this better. If anything, it’s getting worse. Maybe I could move on if I fucked someone. That might help get Wren out of my system. But you’ve already tried that, asshole. Remember? It was a fail. You couldn’t pull the trigger because no woman was enough. You kept comparing them to her. How could anyone compare when I am in love with Lawrence? It wasn’t just fucking. It was love. And I lost her. I was numb the first month following our separation. And maybe a little pissed since I had told her from the start I wouldn’t remarry. Would never risk losing another child. Hell, what part of a vasectomy did she not understand? I was honest with her from day one. But then one month turned into two. And my anger dissipated when I stopped thinking of myself and how much I was hurting. Hadn’t she told me from day one what she wanted as well? Yet, I was the one who pursued her. I went to Savannah with every intention of making her mine, a woman who had clearly told me she wanted marriage and children. Did I not know somewhere deep inside she would eventually want those things from me if our relationship progressed? Of course, I did. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. We’d been apart a few months the first time I googled vasectomy reversal. I

knew there was no denying it; the act itself was a serious indication I was on the edge of caving to Wren’s demands. But by month four or five, it didn’t feel like such a concession on my part anymore. I loved her and didn’t want to be apart from her. Wouldn’t the next logical step be to marry her? And isn’t it a reasonable thought to expect children after that? Bridgette hasn’t missed an opportunity to tell me what an idiot I am for letting Wren go. And she’s right. Even my sweet Bebelle, who is growing like a weed, has given me grief about it. Bridg would rub it in my face so fucking hard if I told her she had been right when she said I should marry Wren and have the vasectomy reversed. Now, here I sit facing the hard cold truth. Wren was my world. My everything. And I let her go. If I don’t show her how special she is, another man will. If I don’t put a ring on her finger, another man will. If I don’t give her babies, another man will. Can I live with that? Fuck, no. The thought makes me blind with rage and jealousy. A knock on my door gains my attention. “Hey, Tap. You busy?” I fold Wren’s note and put it away in my top drawer. “Not too bad.” Stout’s attitude toward me has been surprising. Strangely, he understands me better than I thought possible. Sure, he was pissed after our split because his sister was hurting, but he recognized I was in no less pain than she was. We’ve come out of this shitstorm better friends. Porter too. Turns out he wasn’t nearly as infatuated with Wren as Stout let on. Protective because she is his best friend’s sister, yes. But smitten, no. Stout comes into my office and takes the seat across from me. Hands clasped behind his head. Feet up on my desk to piss me off. This is the old Stout. “I know it’s quitting time but do you feel like talking business for a minute?” “Always.” Business is all I have now; there’s nothing waiting at home for me. But there could have been if I hadn’t been such a fucking hardheaded fool. “What’s up?” “I’ve been in contact with a hard cider company, still in its infancy. They’re having a rough go at getting started and may be looking for a partner. I’ve been kicking around the idea of trying to produce and market a cider. This could be the perfect opportunity to get in on it. I’m curious to know what your thoughts would be about buying into something like that. Maybe making it a sister company to Lovibond.” Stout has been a machine for almost a year. Expanding the company is all he eats, sleeps, thinks. “You know me. I’m always interested if there’s money to be made. How do you feel about what they’re producing?” “I love what they’re doing over there. Totally thinking out of the box. And everything is organic.” My mind immediately goes to Wren. Fruity and organic. She would love that.

“I’m happy to take a look at the books whenever you’re ready.” “Would you be free to drive over with me this weekend?” Wow. He’s really serious about this. My Friday night plan includes sitting on the couch watching the idiot box. The only thing on the agenda for Saturday is getting up at the ass crack of dawn and sitting in the cold-ass woods waiting for a deer to cross my path. “Sure, I can do it. Where are we going?” “Savannah.” This cider company could be anywhere in the fucking world but it’s in Savannah, Georgia. With her. “I don’t know about that, man.” “This is business, Tap. It’s all about perfect timing and financial opportunity. Not my sister.” I know. But she’s there. Within my reach. “I can’t believe you’re pussing out.” Stout chuckles. “You’re so damn scared of seeing my sister you’d give up an opportunity to make money.” “I’m not scared to see her.” I’d like nothing more. But I’m terrified of falling to my knees and telling her I’ll give her everything she wants if she’ll have me back again. Can I do that? Give her what she desires most so I can be with her? After six months, I don’t think I can deal with not having her in my life. Fuck. Can I? “There’s been a lot going on in Lawry’s life lately. She’s busy doing stuff. You won’t run into her.” “What kind of stuff?” And what’s going on in her life? “The biggest change would be her selling Law of Attraction.” “Why? She loves her boho shop.” A million different possibilities are running through my head. But none can possibly have anything to do with me. “She no longer feels safe after what happened.” I’d wondered if their birth mother had continued to cause problems for Wren. Guess so. “Can’t say I blame her. Christie is mentally unstable. I’m afraid she’s capable of more than Lawrence believes.” “I don’t mean the incident with Christie. I’m talking about Lawry being assaulted and robbed at gunpoint in the alley behind the shop.” I’ve not heard a word about this. “What the fuck, Stout? Is she all right?” “Yeah. She was a little banged up, and scared shitless, but she’s okay now.” Banged up? Okay now? “When did this happen?” “About a month ago.” Wren was attacked a month ago and not a single word was mentioned? “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?” “Dude, you ended your relationship with her. I took that as a clear indication you were no longer interested in what happened in my sister’s life.” Both of those statements couldn’t be further from the truth. “Wren ended things with me. But to hell with who ended what. She was attacked. Of course I would want to know.” He’s very well aware of that. He chose to not say anything because he’s still pissed off at me. This is my punishment for

hurting her. Stout shrugs. “Okay. Now you know.” Based on his tone, I hear a variety of silent comments attached to the end of that statement. Okay. Now you know. So what are you going to do about it? Okay. Now you know. So why do you care? You broke my sister’s heart. Okay. Now you know. And it doesn’t change a motherfucking thing. “Lawry handed over the deposit bag. Fucker didn’t have to knock her down and kick the hell out of her. The worst part is our piece-of-shit birth mother was the one who set up the whole thing. But her ass is sitting in jail now so that’s a win.” My sweet Wren was beaten. She shouldn’t have been in that alley at night by herself. She should have been in Birmingham with me. This is my fucking fault. “I have to check on her.” Wren probably thinks I’ve known about this but chose to not call. She needs to know I care. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” What the fuck does that mean? “Why not?” “Lawry’s life is coming together again. She doesn’t need the added confusion of you thrown into the mix.” “All I want to do is check on her and let her know I’m concerned.” And hear her sweet voice. “It’s been a rough few months but she’s finally getting her life back together. She’s dating again. I’m afraid hearing from you will turn her world upside down again.” What. The. Fuck. “She’s already dating? Who?” That fucking hippie restaurant owner again? “I don’t understand why you act so surprised. It’s been months since you told her you’d never marry her. You had to know she’d start dating again at some point.” “Doesn’t mean I have to accept it.” Or like it. Because I don’t. I fucking hate it. All I can see is red as I imagine some fucker touching her. Tasting what’s mine. I don’t know if I can wait until Friday to see her. “I’m done talking about shit that ended six months ago. Can you go to Savannah to talk to Savan Cider on Friday, or not?” “Yeah.” Wouldn’t miss it for the fucking world. “What time?” “Train pulls out at eight.” No worries. I’ll be on that motherfucking choo-choo. “Are we spending the weekend in Savannah?” “Wasn’t planning on it. But I guess we can if you want. I sure as hell don’t have anything going on here.” Me either. “I need to see her, man.” He shakes his head at me, and saunters out

of the room. I have to see her and put a damn stop to this dating shit. She’s mine. Has been since the first time I saw her. Always will be.

“BOOKS APPEAR WELL KEPT AND LEGIT. THE NUMBERS ARE THERE TO SUPPORT THEIR EVALUATION. I predict it’ll take two years to become profitable at the rate they’re going. With our help, I think we can push that to nine months. Twelve at most.” “Does that mean you’re in favor of buying in?” “I’m in if you and Porter are.” Most of the work would fall on them so it’s winwin for me. “Would you be up for Lovibond buying two-thirds of Savan Cider if they sold the other third to a different investor? Or maybe even fifty-fifty depending on the purchase price?” Stout didn’t mention a second investor. I’m not up for that. “You said you wanted to buy a third and become partners with the founders. What’s this shit you’re dumping on me last minute about a totally new investor?” “Savan Cider has a great basis for the brewery but not the heart for it. They’re willing to sell cheap. I think we can get them well below asking price; they want out that badly. And Lawry wants in. She has the money for her part, and she’s ready to invest if you say it’s a go.” Wren wants to go into business with us? With me? “It’s a no-brainer. The numbers are there to support the purchase but what does going into business together mean for Lawrence and me?” “It means nothing. You’re in Birmingham. She’s in Savannah. You’ll be partners from afar.” Stout’s wrong. This doesn’t mean nothing. I’d be in charge of the numbers. I’d have to talk to her. See her. “Lawrence wants this?” To be my business partner? “She does if you believe it’s profitable.” She’s putting her future in my hands. This is huge. And a very good sign for where our future could be going. “Is this why you encouraged me to not call her?” “I needed to hear your honest opinion before you knew she was the interested investor. I didn’t want you jumping at the opportunity because you thought it was a way to bring her back into your life.” He knows I want Wren. And . . . he’s not stopping me here.

“So she’s not dating?” “That part is true. I think she’s back with that guy she was going out with before you got together. The one with the restaurant.” Fuck. Not what I wanted to hear. But something can be done about that. There’s no reason to not push forward with this merger but I want to see Wren first. “Will you drive me to her apartment?” “Sure that’s the best idea tonight?” “I have to find out if there’s potential for a successful business partnership.” With any luck, much more will work out for us. I hope I haven’t fucked up beyond repair. I opt to not call Wren but I suspect Stout may have texted to give her a heads-up. It’s his brotherly duty. But if he didn’t, she was aware we were looking at books today. She knows I’m in Savannah. Surely, she expects me to come to her. “Want me to go up with you?” Fuck, no. Stout’s presence would completely ruin our reunion. “Nah, I’d rather see her alone first.” “Okay. I can go to Mom and Dad’s. Call me when you’re finished and I’ll run by to get you.” I hope that’s not the case. I plan on staying with her tonight. “Wish me luck, bro,” I tell Stout as he lets me out in front of Wren’s building. “I do, Tap. Really.” I think he wants this. Fucking thankful for our friendship and his trust. I’m a fucking mess as I ride up the elevator. I haven’t seen her in over six months. What if she hates me? What if restaurant man is there? Maybe I should have called first. Dumbass. Too late for that now. You’re standing in front of her door. I tap and wait. I can’t remember ever feeling so damn nauseous in my life. Wren opens the door and I immediately know Stout didn’t call when I hear her say my name. “Brou?” “Should I have called?” Yes, I should have. I see it in her wide eyes and slack jaw. You’re an idiot for showing up unannounced like this, Broussard. “I’m sorry. I assumed you would be expecting me after the meeting with Savan Cider.” “Umm, I was waiting to hear from Ollie about the books. I thought we’d probably schedule a business meeting for tomorrow if things looked promising.” Of course she did. Because that makes sense. Not this—showing up at her door without so much as a courtesy call. “A business meeting. Of course.” I need to steer this back between the lines. “But since I’m here, do you want to talk about what I found in the books?” Wren looks over her shoulder and then back at me. “Now’s not a great time. I have company.” That’s a no. And fuck me, I think her company is him. Restaurant guy. “Lawrence, should I take the risotto off the stove?” I hear a man’s voice call out from the kitchen. Fuck. He’s here with her. “Yes, please. Thank you,” she calls back.

“You’re cooking for him.” Not me. The thought makes me insane with jealousy. She makes no reply. “You’ve moved on.” Without me. She looks over her shoulder again. Making sure he isn’t there to hear her. “Brou. I waited months for you to change your mind. All I wanted was for you to call and say you’d consider the things I want. But you didn’t. And it broke my heart all over again.” I’m here now. “Please tell me it’s not too late.” “Not too late for what?” There he is standing behind her. Hippie restaurant owner. Skinny with curly blond hair in a topknot. “Hey, baby. The risotto is getting sticky.” Fuck. The. Risotto. Hearing him call her baby sends me into a red-visioned rage. She’s mine, man bun. Not yours. “Lee, this is Lucas Broussard. He’s my brother’s business partner at Lovibond. And possibly mine as well if we buy the cider company.” Hippie Lee wipes his hand on a kitchen towel and comes over for a shake. “Hey, man. Good to meet you.” There’s no recognition in his eyes. She hasn’t even mentioned me? This guy has no idea I’m more than her brother’s business partner. No clue how many times we’ve fucked like animals. Not an inkling that we’re in love. Or at least I thought we were. Fuck. Am I really too late? “Nice to meet you.” His hand is on her lower back. I swear I’ll break it if he doesn’t take it off her in two seconds. “Lucas was just leaving so I’m going to walk him to the elevator. Go ahead and plate dinner. I’ll be right back.” I’m being dismissed. “You got it, babe.” Again, with babe. Nails down a chalkboard would be less offensive. She comes out and closes the door behind us. “What time do you want to meet?” I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. “Call me when he leaves.” Fuck. What if he spends the night? She tilts her head and lifts a brow. “I meant what time do you want to have our business meeting tomorrow?” “I know what you meant, but I want to see you tonight.” I’m settling by not meeting with her now. “Call me after Hippie Lee leaves.” She shakes her head. “I can’t do that.” We both know she can. “Why not?” “Because I don’t push one man out and bring another in through a revolving

door.” She can push Hippie Lee out but once I’m in, I plan on staying. “It wouldn’t be like that.” “Then what would it be like?” “Call me and you’ll find out.” She lowers her face and holds her forehead with her hand. Please don’t hide those beautiful blues from me, Wren. It’s been too long since I’ve seen them. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you were attacked. I didn’t know.” I pull her in so her body is cocooned inside my arms. I’ve missed this smell. Feeling my body wrapped around hers. I fucked up so bad. I don’t want to go another day without this woman in my life. “Let me come after he’s gone, Wren.” She clears her voice and straightens. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Another no. Fuck. And dismissal. I kiss the top of her head before releasing my hold. “Okay. If that’s what you want.” She’s going to make me work for this. And she should. I fucked up big time. The elevator’s downward arrow illuminates to alert me of its arrival. I stand a few extra seconds before entering, hoping Wren will call me back. But she doesn’t. I step inside and turn around. She’s still standing there staring at me. Looking so sad. And it’s all because of me. My stupidity. I’m so sorry for the way things ended. I wait until the very last moment, not even a full second, before the doors shut to call out, “I love you, Wren.” Let her think about that while she eats fucking risotto with that hippie wanker.

Lawrence Thorn

THAT FUCKING CAJUN BASTARD! NOT A SINGLE WORD FROM HIM IN SIX MONTHS. NOT A CALL OR TEXT. I can’t believe that jackhole had the audacity to waltz his ass over to my apartment without any kind of warning. And then stand there looking so damn delicious. Made me want to jump on him right then and there, despite the fact Lee was in the next room. You’re cooking for him. You’ve moved on. How dare he act like I’m somehow betraying him by having dinner with another man? Should I have called? Well, I guess not unless you want to barge into my apartment on the off chance I might have someone with me. Please tell me it’s not too late. Too late for what? Dammit. Why did Lee have to walk up at the very moment he was about to tell me? I want to see you tonight. Call me when he leaves. What is that about? Sex? Does he really think he can come to town after six months have passed without a bit of communication and woo me into the sack? Well, he probably . . . Fuck, I’m not going to finish addressing that, even in my head. It wouldn’t be like that. Call me and you’ll find out. Let me come over after he’s gone, Wren. What the fuck is that about? I love you, Wren. I can’t believe he said that to me as the elevator doors were closing. Bastard. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden. And you seem to have lost your appetite.” I’ve been pushing mushroom risotto around my plate for fifteen minutes without a bite. “Just thinking about Savan Cider. It’s a big move for me to go from a retail store to the brewery business.” “You don’t have to lie to me, Lawrence. I know your potential partner at Savan Cider is what you’re really thinking about.” Lee’s right and I owe him an apology. “I’m sorry. I had no idea he would show up here like that. It’s thrown me for a bit of a loop.” “He’s the one?” What does Lee mean when he says the one? The one who showed me what butterflies felt like?

The one I can’t hate? Not even a little bit although I try my damnedest. The one I want to hug so tightly I fit all his broken pieces back together? The one my heart is talking about when it whispers he’s it? If that’s what Lee means then the answer is yes. And I can tell by the way he’s looking at me he sees that all over my face. “I’m sorry.” Lee pushes away from the table and takes his plate to the sink. “There’s clearly something there besides Savan Cider dealings to tend.” I can’t disagree with him. Brou and I are unfinished business. “You’ll need to take care of whatever’s going on if you want us to go any further.” Do I want things to go further with him? This is my fourth date with Lee since my breakup with Brou. I haven’t let him go beyond kissing me. I pushed his hand away when he tried to slip it down the waist of my skirt. I let Brou do that to me the weekend we met and was going to let him do so much more. Was totally bummed when we were unable to take it further. Lee crosses his arms and leans against my kitchen cabinet. “You dropped me the last time this guy came around. Should I expect that to happen again?” I have no reply for that. Or any idea what’s going to happen. My head is spinning. “No answer? That’s great, Lawrence.” “I’m sorry.” I can’t reassure Lee about our relationship when I’m not sure where things stand with Brou. Has he changed his mind? Fuck, Brou shows up at my door and I’m ready to drop everything—even this super nice guy who seems willing to do anything to make me happy—so I can run back into the arms of the man who hurt me. “I like you, Lawrence. We have a lot of fun together and share a ton of things in common. Can you say that about you and bearded Broussard?” I’m carefree. He’s guarded. I want marriage. He doesn't. I want children. He doesn’t. I’ve spent years working on my recovery. He’s damaged and has no intention of seeking help. Lee comes to me and grabs the sides of my face as he plants a kiss on my mouth. Not heated. Not demanding. Sweet. “I think you need time to think about what you want.” I know what I want. I’ve had nothing but time to think about it. He kisses me again. Still lackluster. “I really hope it’s me you choose.” You’d never know by this kiss. Not only that, he isn’t fighting for me, he’s . . . hoping. Hoping I’ll choose him. Brou would have yanked me hard against him. Pushed his hands into my hair. Probably shoved his hand into my panties and made me come. Maybe even convinced me to say something really dirty like I love the way you lick my pussy. Mmm . . . makes me shudder but in the best kind of way. I miss that dirty bastard. I don’t think Lee has an alpha bone in his body, but Lucas Broussard isn’t afraid

to exert his dominance. Get on your hands and knees. Ass up. Now, Wren. My skin erupts with goosebumps as I recall his sexy commands in the bedroom. I’m relieved when Lee is gone. In all fairness, I try to recall why I’ve been dating him. He’s kind. Respectful. Gentle and patient. We share countless commonalties. But eating the same kind of food and sharing the same beliefs doesn’t set my heart or body on fire. I sit in silence at my dining table for the longest time looking at my phone. I want to call Brou so badly. I ache to lift the phone and press call when I scroll to his contact. All I’m doing is prolonging the inevitable. There’s a hard conversation we must have. We either do it in privacy now or tomorrow in front of Ollie. I choose now. Come back. I need to see you. My heart accelerates and pounds so hard I hear it in my ears, feel it in my face. My upper lip is quivering after I press send. Be there in ten. I watch the clock on the wall and hear every click of the second hand as I wait for Brou. Six hundred ticks. The racket is maddening so I turn on some music to drown the annoying sound. I nearly jump out of my skin when he knocks. Shit. He’s here. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. “Calm the fuck down, Lawrence.” My pep talk does little for my nerves. I’m practically trembling when I open the door. I go completely stupid, and speechless, when I look into those blue eyes. “Can I come in? I’d much rather talk inside instead of in the hallway this time.” I open the door wide. “Of course. Sorry.” Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Get yourself in check, girl. Getting myself in check becomes impossible when Brou pulls me to him. His hands are on my face, his forehead pressed to mine. And I don’t push him away. “I’ve missed you so much, Wren.” The taste of his mouth. The feel of his beard against my skin. The warmth of his arms around me. All of it became a physical necessity for my survival. I haven’t truly been living since we separated. Just existing. “God, I’ve missed you too.” I put my hands on his face; I have to touch his beard. Another thing I’ve missed. I’ve surrounded myself with friends and family for the last six months. Those I love most. I thought staying busy would help with the pain but there’s been a void in my life. A hole only one person in this world can fill. I pride myself on being strong and independent, but there’s no denying I fell apart when I lost Brou. I had to sweep myself up from the floor and put me back together. But I couldn't make the pieces fit; they weren’t all there. He kept the

biggest one. My heart. “What are you doing with him?” Brou’s voice is a whisper. I may even detect a tremble. “Not what you probably think.” “Are you fucking him?” I hear the sharp edge of pain in his words. I shake my head. “No.” “Has he touched you? Made you come?” I shake my head again. “No.” “Thank fuck.” Brou’s mouth lands on mine without warning. Without permission. No amount of rain could douse the fire I have burning inside me for this man. He stops kissing me when I’m breathless and distances our faces so his eyes connect with mine. “The last six months . . . I don’t have words for the misery. Being without you has changed every thing I thought I knew and wanted in my life. I was so wrong to let you go.” His words are pretty, but he’s yet to say what I need to hear. All of this is for naught if he’s still in the same mindset as six months ago. “I love you and I want nothing more than to be together but none of this matters if you haven’t changed your mind about the future.” “Your love drowns all my demons.” He drops to his knees and presses his face to my stomach. “I didn’t know until you left me that I could find the courage to overcome my fears. You were right. It wasn’t my fault. Eli didn’t die because of something I thought. My marriage to Bridgette wasn’t an indication of the husband I can be. It’s you. It’s us. Marriage. Vasectomy reversal. Whatever your heart desires. I love you, Lawrence Thorn, and I don’t ever want to be separated from you again.” This man is on his knees and willing to do whatever it takes to make me happy. All of this is for me. He came for me. Again. I put my fingers into his hair, pushing it away from his face so I can clearly see his eyes. And that’s where I become lost. But it’s the kind of lost that's more like being found. Suddenly everything in the world is right. “I love you, Lucas Broussard.” He looks up at me from his knees. “Please say you’ll have me back.” “Only if you’ll have me.” He kisses my stomach over my shirt. “I’d very much like to have you right now. But there’s something I need to do first. And it’s going to be a little difficult to do on both of my knees.” As in he only needs to be on one? Holy shit. Brou leaves his kneeling position to stand before me. He rubs his hands up and down the length of my arms. “You’re trembling, baby.” “I . . .” It’s the only word I’m able to get out of my mouth. The harder I try to stop shaking, the worse it becomes. Maybe I should try breathing exercises. Inhale deeply. Exhale slowly.

“Wren, are you okay?” I nod because I haven’t yet found my voice. “As you know, I looked at the books for Savan Cider.” What the fuck? I thought he was about to propose. “As far as the numbers go, I like what I see there.” “That’s good.” My voice sounds like a damn croaking frog. “The evaluations are good. It’s going to be profitable so I’m in favor of buying.” I was wrong. I’m getting a business meeting instead of a marriage proposal. The sudden change of direction from where I assumed we were going makes me dizzy. Pull it together, Lawrence. Can’t let him know you thought he was about to propose. You could scare him off again. “You’re in favor of Lovibond partnering with me?” “Of course. Stout said you were interested in a third or possibly half.” “I know I can afford a third but ideally I’d like to go halfers if we can get it for the right price.” “How do you feel about going half and half with me?” Has he lost his mind? Brou and I can’t take on a brewery without the brew masters. “We would need Ollie. Maybe Porter too.” “I have a different kind of partnership in mind. And I think the only people we need to make it work are you and me.” He takes a black leather box from his pocket and flips open the top. “I already know you’ll be the better half.” I may hyperventilate. Brou takes the ring from the box and reaches for my hand. He brings it to his lips and kisses the top. “The moment I saw you at that festival, I only knew one thing about you. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But then I was lucky enough to steal a forbidden kiss. And I felt alive for the first time in years. The whole world became something different with you in my arms.” He holds a gold vintage engagement ring with a round center stone. It looks at least fifty years old. It’s so me. “I won’t be satisfied until I wake with you by my side every morning. Be my wife, Wren. And mother of my children. And business partner.” “Let me think about it.” I try to look serious but it’s impossible. I can’t stop smiling. Inside I’m screaming, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” “I’m not telling you it's going to be easy. But it will be worth it.” He puts the ring on the tip of my finger and waits for my answer. “All you have to do is say yes.” I love this man so much. “Yes. I’ll be your wife, the mother of our children, and your business partner.” He slides the engagement ring down my finger. “Sometimes the heart doesn't know what it wants until it finds what it needs. And you’re it for me.” Meeting Brou the weekend of the beer festival was fate. Deciding to try out a long-distance relationship was a choice. But falling in love was beyond our control.

I’ve never been afraid of the word different; there are far too many ordinary things in life. Love shouldn't be one of them.

Epilogue LUCAS BROUSSARD

“I’M LATE.” “Late for what?” I’ve heard those words from Wren two other times. I know what she means but I ask her to clarify in hopes of getting a different answer. “My period. It’s late.” Well, fuck. We just went through all of this a couple months ago. It hasn’t been long enough. I’m not ready. I wish I could be ecstatic. I would love to wear a fucking grin on my face for days and tell everyone I’m finally going to be a daddy. But I can’t. I have to stay disconnected so it doesn’t hurt so much if we lose this one too. I swore to Wren I would marry her and give her babies. I’ve done both. Sort of. But things haven’t gone as planned. We married almost three years ago. I had the vasectomy reversal a month later since we knew it might take a while for it to function well enough for Wren to get pregnant. It took over two years but we’ve conceived naturally twice in the last six months. Both pregnancies ended in miscarriage. Now, here we go again. The doctor said both were random and not an indicator for any future problems. But I wanted to wait, give her body more time to heal so we’d have a better chance at being successful this time. Wren wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s eager to hold a baby in her arms. “You don’t look happy, Brou.” “I’m scared, Wren.” Fucking terrified. I don’t want to walk this path again. Lose my fourth child. Her third. It’s brutal. “Don’t think about everything that can go wrong. Think of the sweet, precious baby we’ll have because everything finally went right this time.” “Lawrence Broussard.” I’m sucked back into the present when I hear my wife’s name called. “This is it.” We follow the woman down the hallway into an exam room. “Dr. Nichols wants

your ultrasound done before she sees you.” “Yay.” Wren is beaming. So giddy and bubbly. She’s never made it this far in her pregnancies. Never had a bump before. Never had that lovely glow. My wife makes a beautiful pregnant woman. She reaches for my hand. “Come up here so you can see better.” I’m wearing a smile but it’s all for show. I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life. Wren is twenty weeks, halfway through the pregnancy. If something is wrong with this baby, we’ll find out today. Right now. She stretches out on the exam table, legs fidgeting. “Oh, I’m so excited. It’s been a month since the last scan. I can’t wait to see our baby and how much he or she has grown.” “You won’t believe the changes from sixteen to twenty weeks.” The woman is busy pushing buttons on the keyboard. “Just need a minute to enter your information and then we’ll get started.” I cup both of my hands around Wren’s. I lean forward, bringing them to my forehead as I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. Please, please, please let our baby be healthy. I don’t think I’ll make it through losing another one. “You’re shaking, Brou.” I am. Because I’m a fucking mess. It’s my job to protect Wren and our child. But I’m helpless to do anything if something has gone wrong again. I just need this test to be done and hear our child is healthy. The woman shakes a bottle and squeezes gel on Wren’s stomach. “Wet goo on your tummy.” Here we go. I watch the computer screen although I don’t have a clue what I’m seeing. Just looks like a bunch of blobs to me. “I’ll do the diagnostic requirements first and then we get to do the fun stuff.” That sounds reassuring. I don’t think she’d have used that word if something were wrong. “Fun stuff?” “We spy on the baby and take pictures. Maybe see if it’s a boy or girl if he or she is cooperative today.” “We don’t want to know the sex,” Wren is quick to inform her. She’s been adamant about not finding out since the beginning. “Oh, I love when parents don’t find out. That’ll be so much fun when you deliver.” The ultrasound tech hums and makes small talk as she scans Wren’s stomach. “Do you have a feeling about it? Most of my patients say they do.” “I think it’s a boy. He says he doesn’t know.” I haven’t been able to assign a gender to this little person. To do so would make it real and I can’t do that until I know this baby will survive. A galloping thud echoes through the room. “Heart rate is running around one fifty.” Mishaps at the cider brewery caused me to miss Wren’s last two checkups and

ultrasounds so I’m hearing and seeing our baby for the first time. And it triggers something deep within my chest, a sensation I’ve not felt in a long time. That is my child. “I swear that is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I could listen to it forever.” The tech points at the screen. “Well, if you think that’s sweet, take a look at this.” It’s a minute before I get my bearings but then it becomes clear. “Oh my God, Wren.” I laugh—maybe even sort of giggle. “He’s sucking his thumb.” I watch the screen, mesmerized by what I’m seeing. This is real. “Does everything look okay? Is he healthy?” Please say yes. I squeeze Wren’s hand and my entire body tenses as I wait to hear the verdict. Longest second of my life. “All looks good. He, or she, appears healthy as can be.” Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m not even on cloud nine. I’m floating above it. We aren’t going to lose this one. I choke up and fight tears as I behold this tiny little person inside my wife. Part me, part her. The tech moves the probe and is able to get a perfect still frame of the face. “Look at that, Brou. Has to be a boy because that little face looks just like yours. Minus the beard.” “Woman, you don’t know what I look like without a beard.” She giggles. “I’ve seen pictures.” I can’t take my eyes from the screen as I study the image of our child. “I don’t know, babe. I think that’s your nose and chin.” Guess we’ll find out in a few months. “Man, there’s some flipping going on in there today.” I can’t believe how much he’s moving. I’m not sure I blink for fear of missing one of the somersaults. “Do you feel that?” “Some of it. Mostly feels like little flutters here and there.” Amazing. Our tech replaces the ultrasound wand on the machine. The fun is over too soon. “All right. We’re done. Dr. Nichols will be in to see you shortly.” “Thank you for the pictures,” Wren says. “You’re welcome. Glad we were able to get some good shots of the little prince or princess.” “I can’t wait to show the video and these pictures to our parents. You know our moms are going to have a fit.” Wren adjusts the stretchy band of her skirt over her belly. Pregnant and still dressing like a hippie. That’s my girl. “Josette Broussard will want her own copy.” My mom wanted to be present during the ultrasound so badly. Begged and pleaded like a toddler. I understand her excitement about the baby but this is our time. I have no idea what’s going to happen when the doctor comes in. She may not want me in here. “Would you like me to go to the waiting room?”

“You’ve not been at many of my checkups. I’d really like you to stay.” I haven’t been a part of this pregnancy as I should be. But that changes here and now. “I would love to stay with you, baby.”

“WHERE DO YOU WANT ME?” “On your side. Pillow between your knees and one under your head.” Naked Wren. Fragrant candles burning. Relaxing music playing. Lavender oil ready to be warmed in my hands when she’s in position. Perfect recipe for a prenatal massage. I dribble several drops of diluted lavender oil in my hands. I rub them together before placing my palms against the back of Wren’s neck. “Lavender oil is safe in second trimester. I checked.” “I know.” Of course she does. She’s the essential oil expert and natural healer of the two of us. I begin at her nape and slowly work my way down the muscles of her back, giving each one plenty of attention, until I reach her hips. I gently push and circle my fist into the base of her spine. “Feel good?” “Very good. I’ve been hurting there this week.” She hasn’t mentioned that. “Maybe it’s time you stopped working.” She’s on her feet all day at the cider brewery. That can’t be healthy for her or the baby. “It’s just sciatica. Most pregnant women get it from time to time. No reason to stop working.” We forewent buying Savan Cider after Wren and I got engaged. As newlyweds, we didn’t need to tackle running a company in Birmingham and another in Savannah. Been there, done that, and it didn’t work. So we started our own cider brewery, a sister company to Lovibond. Stout didn’t want Savan Cider anyway. He knew how miserable our separation was making both of us. And I think he suspected I was on the verge of changing my stance about marriage and children. He knew how much I loved his sister. And all I needed was a little push. The whole thing was a ploy to bring Wren and me back together. And I played right into his hands. Best scheme ever. I tap Wren on the hip. “I’ll do your other side if you’ll roll.” “Definitely if it means you’re going to keep this up.” I move in the opposite direction this time, ending up at the back of her neck,

before moving on to her calves and feet. “That was so good, Brou. Thank you.” I finish Wren’s massage and lie down behind her, spooning. My hand goes to her swollen abdomen. “How is our little one?” “Very active. You must have stirred him up. There are lots of flutters going on in there.” Just like earlier today when Wren had her ultrasound. I hold my hand still and concentrate on trying to feel them. Nothing. I think it makes me a little jealous. “How long have you been feeling the baby move?” “A couple of weeks.” That long? “You haven’t said anything about it.” “Because you withdraw every time I talk about the baby.” I hear the hurt in her voice. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my forehead to Wren’s bare back, powerless to stop the tears. I’m such a selfish bastard. I made this about me and how to guard against another devastating blow. I never stopped to consider how much disconnecting was hurting my wife. “I allowed my heart to disengage from the baby and pregnancy in case we lost this one too . . . so it didn’t hurt so much. I haven’t been here for you, or our little one, and I am truly sorry for that. You can’t begin to imagine how much.” “It’s okay.” “It’s not okay, Wren. I swear I love this baby. He’s already in my heart and I can hardly wait until he’s in my arms.” She puts her hand over mine and presses it against her lower belly. “I know. I’ve always known . . . even when you didn’t.” “I think it’s time I see someone. A therapist.” My unresolved feelings about Eli’s death have held me back from embracing this precious life inside Wren as I should. That’s not what I want for my child. “Oh, Brou.” She turns in my arms and wraps her body around mine. Her embrace and tears tell me everything she doesn’t say. Lawrence Thorn Broussard. My lover. My wife. Mother of my child. Her love and unwavering faith in me has the power to conquer any darkness I face.

IT’S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN. BABY BROUSSARD COULD HATCH ANY TIME NOW. “YOU SHOULD BE RESTING, Wren. Not up, cleaning the house.” “I can’t help it. I feel good for the first time in days. I don’t want to wallow on

that couch another minute.” If she won’t listen to me, maybe she’ll listen to another woman. “Tell her, Mom. It isn’t good for her to be running around the house like a mad woman.” Wren says I’m overprotective and worry too much. I disagree. It isn’t possible to be too concerned for the health and well-being of my wife and child. “Leave her alone, Luc. She’s nesting.” I’ve heard of that but I don’t have a clue what it means. “What is that?” “Her motherly instinct to clean and get the house in order before the baby comes.” “For real? You think it means the baby is coming because she’s dusting like a maniac?” “Could be.” A woman’s pregnant body does weird things. Wren nests all evening. My mom says it’s normal behavior so I let her have at it. I’m hoping Mom is right and this is a sign the baby is coming soon. I’m ready to meet my son or daughter. Her burst of energy isn’t even close to being at an end at bedtime. “These pregnancy hormones do crazy things to me. Wanting you hits me in waves. Right now, I'm drowning because I want you so bad.” Whoa. She hasn’t been like this in a while. Lucky me. Wren gets on all fours and then moves over to straddle me. “I’m big and slow these days.” “No, baby. You’re perfect.” I put my hands on her round belly and rub each side before gliding my hands to her hips. “No panties. You came to bed ready.” And with motive. Love that. “You have no idea just how ready I am.” A streak of white leaves her body and lands on the foot of the bed. Damn. She stripped that off fast. “I’d say you’re the opposite of slow.” Wren yanks my shirt over my head. “Get those pants off. Now.” “Yesss, ma’am.” She lifts, and I do too, so I can obey her orders quickly. “Damn, I am loving this nesting thing.” I push my fingers into the hair at her nape and pull her face to mine. She sinks over me and I’m inside her body. She moves up and down several times, sliding me in and out, but it isn’t like normal. “This isn’t working. I can’t get going. I’m too big and unbalanced.” “You’re not too big.” “Well, I’m too . . . something.” “Tell me how you want it.” I will stand on my head and give it to her if that’s what she wants. “Side lying, from the back.” “Not a problem.” I love rear entry. I ease inside her and it’s so good it’s impossible to suppress my groan. I pull back and thrust slowly, savoring the squeeze of her body around mine. “Fuck!” I can’t believe how tight she feels. “It’s sending tingles all over me.”

I thrust a few more times. “Is this position good for you, babe?” She’s tilting her hips backward, rocking, to meet me with every stroke. “Mmm hmm.” I reach around her pregnant belly to that sensitive place between her legs. “Tell me when I find the spot.” She moans, and without a word, I know I’ve hit it. “Oh, right there.” I circle the whole area fast and hard. Slow and soft. Back and forth. Side to side. It’s anybody’s guess what will come next. “Almost there.” I move faster. My cock and fingers. “Do it. I want to feel your body quiver and contract around me because you’re coming hard.” “Ohh . . . I’m coming, Brou.” Yes, she is. And so am I. I bury my face in the back of her hair. “I love you, Wren.” She reaches over her shoulder and grabs the back of my head. “I love you, too.” Our arms, our legs, our entwined bodies collapse like rag dolls. “That was fucking awesome.” “Our baby’s first word is going to be fucking if you don’t find an alternative soon.” “I think we have a little time until he says his first word.” “You always say he and him. Do you want a boy?” She says it too. “I guess it’s my default because of Eli. But I don’t care what we get as long as he or she is healthy.” That’s it. The only thing I care about. I pull out and reach for a pillow to place under her head. “Need one between your knees too?” “Yes, please.” I spoon behind Wren, wrapping my arm around her waist and rubbing her tummy. The movement beneath my hand is like a restless sea. “Feels like he’s awake.” “Yeah. That stirred him up.” “He’ll be stirring in our arms before too much longer. And keeping us up half the night. Mom thinks it’ll be soon.” “I would be completely okay with that.” She places a hand on her belly next to mine. “I’m ready to get my hands on our little snuggle bug. This has been a long wait.” It has indeed. But even miracles take a little time. I see that now.

GRANOLA EARTH BIRTH. HIPPIE STYLE. ALL NATURAL. NOTHING FOR PAIN. THAT’S HOW WREN WANTS TO labor and give birth to our child. I admire her for that. But damn. I can hardly stand seeing her in this much pain. “I didn’t know it was gonna hurt like this.” Her breathing is no longer slow and deep. She’s panting. “Uhh . . . it’s . . . baadd.” She’s writhing all over the bed. “Get the epidural, baby.” “No, no, no. I’ve come this far without it.” Wren was dilated seven centimeters last time she was checked. The nurse said she didn’t feel like the last three would take long. God, I hope not. This is horrible to watch. “Hold my hand.” She squeezes it. Hard. “I don’t think I can do this. It hurts too bad.” I move so we’re face to face. “Look at me, Wren.” Her eyes meet mine and I see agony there. “Will it be easy? No. Will it be worth it when you hold our baby in your arms? Absolutely. Remember that little face we saw on the ultrasound. The one with your nose and chin. You can do this for him.” She squeezes her lids tightly. “Get the nurse. I . . . gotta . . . push.” “Don’t push yet, Wren.” “I . . . can’t . . . stop.” What the fuck is happening? I release her hand and dash for the door. It’ll be faster than hitting the nurse call button and waiting. “My wife says she has to push.” Wren’s nurse comes in and repeats her same hourly procedure. “She’s right. It’s baby time.” The moment has arrived. Almost four years of wishing, longing, praying, and wanting this child. We finally get to meet our son or daughter. Wren reaches for my hand and squeezes, her teeth clenched. “Ohh . . . this one hurts really bad, Brou! It’s all the way down . . . in my butt!” The nurse stops what she’s doing and pats Wren on the leg. “It’s okay. Means the baby is moving down. You’re getting closer.” Oh fuck. The heaviness of the reality hits me—I’m about to become a father. I bring her hand to my lips for a kiss. “Almost time to hold our snuggle bug.” Wren’s nurse coaches her through a series of contractions. I didn’t know it would take this long. I thought you had a baby once you made it to ten centimeters. Shows what I know. She’s in so much pain. Suffering. “How much longer?” “Close. We’re almost ready for the doctor.” Not close enough. I’m supposed to take care of Wren and this baby. And I can’t do a fucking thing to help her. I push her sweat-soaked hair away from her forehead. “Not much longer, baby. Don’t stop. You’re almost done.” “Pressure’s building. Oh God. Gotta . . . push.” The nurse motions for me to look between Wren’s legs. “Want to see the top of your baby’s head?” I’m scared to look but I’m afraid not to as well. This may be the only child we

ever have and I’d hate to miss this opportunity. “Yeah.” Wren pushes and I watch our baby’s head come down until I can see the entire crown. I’ve never seen anything so amazing in all my life. So surreal. “There’s a ton of dark hair.” Wren pushes three times and then falls back, breathing heavily. Having a baby is hard work. “I’m glad he’s taking after you because I didn’t have hair until I was almost two.” “I think we’re ready for a doctor.” “Hear that, babe? She’s calling the doctor to come.” I lean down and kiss Wren’s forehead. “I love you so much.” She strokes my face with her hand. “I love you, too.” Dr. Nichols arrives and the medical staff takes their places. “You’re starting a contraction so push hard and we’ll meet this little bundle of joy.” Wren takes a deep breath and blows it out before taking another and holding it. I help her pull her legs back and her face turns beet red as she pushes with every bit of her remaining strength. She stops midpush and releases her legs as her back bows from the bed. “Omigod, get it out. Get it out.” “Push, Lawrence. Push.” Her legs are shaking and she reaches up to grab me. She pulls me down and squeezes me around the back of my neck. “Brou. I can’t do it.” “Come on, Wren. Do it for our baby. Push him out.” Wren releases her iron-fisted hold on me. “Okay. I’m doing it.” Wren rears up and pulls her legs back. Her eyes are squeezed tight, her brow wrinkled. Tears escape her eyes and it breaks my heart she’s suffering in silence. It’s worse than if she were screaming. “Look down here and watch your baby come into the world.” I lean over Wren’s leg and watch a perfect little head emerge from my wife’s body. That face. It’s the one we saw months ago. I’ve never seen anything more amazing in my life. “Head’s out, Lawrence. Let’s see the rest of this baby and find out what you’ve been cooking in there all these months.” “Push, baby. You can do it.” I hear a gush of fluid and then a piercing cry—our baby’s first sound. “Looks like we have a boy.” I kiss the top of her head, and attempt to tell this woman what I’m feeling, but I can’t find my voice. I love you so much, Wren. Thank you for giving me a son. Our crying son is placed on Wren’s chest where the nurses wipe him clean, cover his head with a blue beanie, and stuff him inside his mother’s gown. “Hello, my sweet Emeric.” “He’s okay?” “Looks healthy as can be.” Thank God. I look at my son and know I owe every bit of this to Wren. Our happy life together. This healthy child we wished, hoped, and longed to hold in our arms.

Without her, I would have been content to sail through my stagnant life and never know this kind of joy. “Lucas Emeric Broussard II.” I lower my face so I can get a better look at him. I can’t believe how chubby he is, considering he has a vegan momma. “It’s crazy how much I already love him.” “I know. Me too.” When I met this beautiful woman, all I wanted from her was a dirty weekend . . . until that wasn’t enough and I wanted so much more. I had no idea more would eventually translate into making her my wife and mother of our child. Or maybe even children. Who knows what the future holds? But I’m sure of two things: I’m no longer scared of what life with Wren has to offer. And of all the futures I could have had, every option needed to have her in it. THE END

A beautiful neighbor. A complete stranger. That’s all she was when I moved in next door. Adelyn Maxwell is my neighbor but she’s no girl next door. The more I come to know her, the more I discover she’s a good girl with a lovely dark side. And maybe I don’t want her to stay on her side of the fence. I want to disturb the rhythm of her pulse. I want to see the way her hair spills on the bed when she lies beneath me. I want her to teach me the dirty pretty things she desires behind closed doors. And she does. But mostly I want to leave my mark on the most intimate, untouched part of her body. Her heart. A seemingly insignificant intersection of our lives neither of us recalls suddenly becomes a pivotal moment in our future. We aren’t strangers at all. And our paths aren’t crossing for the first time. These twists and turns of fate will become one of two things: a wrecking ball to tear us apart or the connection to bond us together forever.

Oliver Thorn

THE HOUSE SURROUNDED BY A WHITE PICKET FENCE. THE HOUSE SITTING IN THE MIDDLE OF A PERFECTLY manicured lawn. The house with the inviting brick steps leading up to the front door. This is a home where every member of the family living under the roof wears a true smile. Says please. Says thank you. Says I love you. Not shut your bratty mouth before I give you something to cry about. This is the kind of house my childlike mind envisioned when I dreamed of the place where happy people lived. This is the home every kid deserves. From the beginning. Not after six years of torment. Now this house is mine. Lawry and I stand side by side looking at what I repeatedly refer to as a sound financial investment. But it’s more. So much more even if I don’t admit it. “I hope you’re not having buyer’s remorse.” “No buyer’s remorse today. At least not until I have to fork over the payments.” “Your first home, Ollie.” My first home. I like the idea and sound of those words a little more than I thought I would. Lawry puts her arm around my waist and leans in for a side hug with her head pressed against my shoulder. “I think you’re going to be very happy here.” “I think so too.” I fish the house key from my pocket and dangle it before us. “All those boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” “Agreed. We better get started.” “Sorry, sis. You’re not moving boxes.” Lawry’s eyes roll upward. “That’s not an attractive look for you.” “You’re being ridiculous and really making me wish I hadn’t told you.” Who is she kidding? No way my sister could keep something this important from me. “Well, you did tell me.” Her balled hands come to rest on her hips. I’m amused by how much she reminds me of Mom when she stands that way. No genetic connection yet so much alike. “I’m reevaluating that decision at this point.” Tap would side with me on this one. “I guarantee your husband wouldn’t let you

haul heavy boxes either. Especially while wearing that damn long-ass hippie skirt.” I can imagine her feet tangling in it, causing her to tumble down the brick steps in a whirlwind of blonde tresses and patchwork floral print. She attempts to climb two steps, testing her ability to move in it. And steps on the hem. “See? Total fall hazard.” “Easily fixed.” She yanks the waist of her skirt up and rolls it down a couple of times. “You do realize I’m not pregnant yet?” She follows me inside after I unlock the door. “You’re working on it, so you don’t know one hundred percent you’re not.” “We just started trying. If I were, I’d be all of five minutes pregnant. So you’re being dumb.” “Five minutes or five months. No difference to me. Pregnant is pregnant.” Lawry and Tap already know conceiving may not come easily, so I won’t have her taking unnecessary risks. “I can see right now you’re going to be just as bad as my husband if it happens.” I’m protective of my sister. Have been since I was old enough to swing a punch, even if she’s older, but my protectiveness doesn’t match that of Lucas “Tap” Broussard. My brother-in-law is like a damn alpha wolf guarding his mate when it comes to my sister. Damn. I was so wrong about Tap in the beginning. “You got the husband. You’ll get the babies too.” Tap will see to it. Of that, I’m certain. “Would cleaning the floors also be on the list of tasks you deem unsafe?” She rolls her eyes again, this time giving me the eyebrow lift, indicating her question is not about permission. Sassy hippie. “I’d really like to do that before the furniture arrives.” I forego telling her I’ve already had a cleaning crew come in to take care of that. With Lawry, it’s better to let her believe she’s contributing. “Sure.” Lawry goes to work on cleaning my clean floors while I haul boxes from my truck. Stacks at least six feet high litter the floor of my dining room. Wow. The contents of my bachelorhood are compressed into these cardboard rectangles. I have a strong feeling Lawry will try to make me trash most of it. Try. Operative word. After Lawry’s gone, I’ll put my man shit where I want it. A box with Brewster written in big black letters across the top catches my eye. My first home-brewing beer kit. Got this bad boy before I was even old enough to drink beer . . . legally, that is. Fuck, that first batch was nasty. Skunky. But my failure didn’t stop me. I started the next round before the first one soaked into the grass behind my apartment. I wouldn’t part with this little beauty for a million bucks. It started it all: my love for tasty beer and the science behind what makes a great brew. This old, worn plastic barrel ignited a fire in me and played a huge part in making me who I am today. A flattened palm raps against the door facing leading into the dining room.

“Well, I’m here, motherfucker. What do you need me to do?” Asshole is two hours late. “I just love how you show up after I’ve already unloaded everything from the truck.” He looks away and shrugs. “I was doing shit.” Porter has been doing shit a lot lately. It started out as him going missing for an hour here. Another hour there. Three hours for lunch. Now he disappears for whole weekends at a time. “I know what kind of shit you’re doing. Just not who you’re doing it with.” “You don’t know anything.” “Why so secretive? Is she fugly?” Porter shakes his head and looks around my new place. “What do you need me to do?” Totally avoiding the question. Not an unfamiliar play. It was Tap’s MO when messing around with Lawry behind our backs. I’ll table it for now. “I need help getting my furniture out of my apartment.” “Lawry’s letting you bring that junk over here?” He forgets how much she loves pre-owned shit. “My old stuff is going to her workshop so she can refinish it. Wants to give it life again.” “How could I forget? Turn crappy into happy.” He does a stellar impersonation of my sister. Always has. He runs his hand over the box labeled Brewster. “Wow. I haven’t seen this in a long time.” “Me either. Been boxed away for years.” “You should put it on display. Maybe down at the brewery if Lawry won’t let you do it here.” “Not a bad idea. Like a where-it-all-began plaque.” It deserves recognition. Not to be hidden away in storage. Porter moves to the large window facing my front lawn and pulls the sheer curtain aside. “This is very you.” “The floral shit will be the first thing to go.” “I meant the house and quiet neighborhood. The privacy. Your own driveway. Garage. Workshop.” “I’m hoping I can pick up my woodwork projects again.” Maybe that’s something Dad and I can do together when he and Mom visit. I’ve missed that time with him. “The only thing you’re lacking now is the wife and kids to complete the full package.” “I think I’ll just take the house for now.” “Do you ever think about it? The full package?” I did with Eden. And look where that got me. “I haven’t for a few years.” “Right.” I don’t have to say her name for him to understand. “There’s a house for sale two streets over if you’re considering giving up condo life.”

“Well, that all depends.” He pushes open the drape farther. “Depends on what?” “If all the women in this neighborhood look like the one walking up your driveway right now. If that’s the case, house sold.” “No idea. Haven’t met any of the neighbors.” I move to the window to investigate Porter’s sighting. Damn. He isn’t wrong. That is one smokin’ hot redhead. Just my brand. And she’s coming this way. “Looks like I have a visitor to receive.” I stop when Porter doesn’t follow. “You comin’?” Porter shakes his head. “Nah. You go on. I’ll wait in the truck.” “Wait in the truck?” This may be the first time Porter hasn’t shoved me out of the way so he could get to a hot piece of ass ahead of me. Fuck. I recognize the hesitation. The retreat from a hot woman. The pattern. “Who is she?” Porter shakes his head, wearing a wide shit-eating grin. “Already told you, dude. Nobody.” “Damn liar.” Porter chuckles. “She’s your type. Go meet her. I’ll be in the truck when you’re done.” Porter has been my number-one bro since our freshman year at Alabama. Pals for almost twelve years. We’ve been through a lot together. Booze. Careers. Women. Lots of women. And never once has he handed one over willingly. Not even a fugly one if he thought he could get laid. “This conversation isn’t over.” “Whatever.” He catches my truck keys midair when I toss them in his direction. “Gimme five.” “Got a Benjamin in my wallet that says I don’t see you for at least fifteen.” Never been able to refuse one of Porter’s bets. It’s our thing. And we always pay up. “Sure. I’ll take that bet. I can always use an extra hundred bucks.” He holds up his phone. “I’ll even give you a whole minute to get out there and initiate the conversation before I start the timer.” “You’re on, fucker. Get ready to pay up.” I step onto my front porch and find the flaming beauty talking with my sister. “Ollie! Come meet your neighbor.” Damn. This good-looking woman is my neighbor. That does not suck. “This is Adelyn Maxwell. She lives next door.” Adelyn Maxwell. Adelyn Maxwell. Adelyn Maxwell. I repeat her name in my head. Three times guarantees I’ll never forget it. Not that I’m likely to forget her. Her small, delicate hand nearly disappears inside my large one. “Oliver Thorn. Pleasure to meet you.” I point to each of the neighboring homes. “Which is yours?” She gestures over her right shoulder. “White two-story.”

Ah. The house with the pool. Many images dance through my head and all of them include Adelyn Maxwell in a bikini. Wonder if she has a husband. Don’t see a ring but that isn’t always an indication. Kids? Probably not with a body like hers but can’t always go by that. I glance over at her place and see a fine black F-Type coupé parked in the drive. She ain’t hauling kids around in that. “Are you married or do you have any children?” Thank you, Lawry, for asking the burning question. “Nope. Just me. Do y’all have kids?” Well, hell. She thinks we’re together. Laughter slips from my lips like one of those sneaky little farts that bolt for freedom the moment you become a little too relaxed. “Oh, no, we’re not a couple. She’s my sister.” “My bad. I assumed you were married. But in my defense most people in this neighborhood are.” “It feels very family oriented around here.” I think that’s one reason Lawry pushed so hard for this house. “Definitely.” Adelyn points to a passing vehicle and then the two parked in driveways across the street. “Minivan. Minivan. Minivan. This is hardcore soccer mom territory.” Her eyes widen. “And it can be terrifying at times.” Soccer moms aren’t terrifying. But strung-out-heroin-addict moms are. “Then I’ll make a point to stay out of their way during carpool hours.” “Wise decision.” My new neighbor offers the basket she’s holding. “The reason I came. This is for you. Just a little welcome-to-the-neighborhood happy from me.” I unfold the fabric and my nose and eyes find more than one pleasant sensation. Muffins in cupcake papers. Freshly baked bread, still warm. A jar of jam. Looks like strawberry. Or maybe plum. Sausage balls. Grapes. Cheese and crackers. I. Am. Impressed. “This looks amazing. Thank you.” “No problem. I remember what it was like moving in. Being without a functioning kitchen was a total nightmare.” “A functioning kitchen makes this guy no difference. He eats trash.” “Don’t listen to her. She’s a tree-hugging-hippie vegan. She eats grass and granola.” “Healthy doesn’t equate to unsavory.” And here we go with the nutrition spiel. “She lies,” I hiss. “Don’t fall for her deception, Adelyn. It’s a trap intended to lure you into her tofu world.” Adelyn giggles. “I adore baking and it’s very likely I’ll pawn muffins and fresh bread off on you, but I promise I’ll never bring tofu.” “Ollie loves to eat so I see this neighbor thing potentially working out well.” “I hope so.” Is that a hint of flirtation in her grin? Or in her unusual hazel eyes, the way they linger on mine a little longer than what’s considered appropriate? Or

in the flick of her wrist as she tosses her flaming locks over her shoulder? Redheads. She can’t possibly know they’re my preference. My delicacy. My fucking weakness. And the last one was almost my undoing. Adelyn’s eyes leave mine, and she glances at her watch. “Oh dear. I hate to pop over and run, but I have a lunch meeting with a client across town.” “What kind of work do you do?” “I own an event planning service.” Lawry breaks into her well-how-’bout-that smile. “Hear that, Ollie? Adelyn’s an event planner.” Adelyn’s brow lifts as she watches the exchange between my sis and me. “That’s what I do.” “It just so happens I’m in need of an event planner. The woman we’ve been using recently relocated so I’m in a bind.” “Business or personal?” “Business.” “Sure.” Adelyn nods as she glances at her watch a third time. “I’m short on time at the moment but how ’bout I take a look at my calendar and give you a call so we can schedule a lunch meeting to discuss the details?” “That would be fantastic.” “Perfect.” Adelyn plucks her sunglasses from the top of her head and slips them over her eyes when she and Lawry finish exchanging contact information. “Well, I’m off. Try not to work too hard, guys.” I put my arm around Lawry. “Don’t worry about this one. She won’t.” “Hey, jackhole!” She slams her hip into mine. “I can always go home to prop up my feet and dump all this on you and Porter.” I catch the back of my sister’s neck and squeeze. “You know I’m kidding, knucklehead.” Adelyn seems amused by our exchange. “I look forward to our meeting, Lawrence.” I shamelessly ogle Adelyn’s ass in her tight skirt as she walks away and gets into her Jaguar coupé. “You know what? I think I’m going to like living in this neighborhood a lot.” “I’m sure you will with that living next door. I happen to know how much you visually enjoy a lovely lady of red.” “Yes, I do.” “I think she’s a natural.” “She is.” Both a natural beauty and a natural redhead. “I guess you would know, being a connoisseur and all.” “Yes, I would.” “Well, she wants to feed you, so she’s already okay in my book.” I don’t think my sister’s ever going to get over her neurosis about nourishment.

It’s been twenty-three years since our bellies growled from hunger. Real hunger. Painful hunger. Not the kind people mistakenly refer to as starving when it’s only been a half day since their last meal. “I see Porter’s truck but no Porter.” “He’s waiting in my truck.” “Instead of being front and center to meet your new attractive neighbor?” I can’t be wrong if Lawry thinks it’s odd too. “I know. Weird.” “He must not have gotten a good look at her.” “But he did. He’s actually the one who pointed her out to me.” Fucker is sitting in my truck staring off into space. Smiling. “He denies it but I think the bastard is in some kind of secret relationship.” “That’s fantastic. But why would he keep it secret? And especially from you?” “I don’t know but things have been off with him for a while.” “Things being off automatically makes you think he’s in a relationship?” “No, but his sudden ability to perfect the disappearing act does. Reminds me of the days when you and Tap were doing the sneaky behind my back.” “Ah, the disappearing act. A good indication something is going on and he doesn’t want you to know what it is.” “I know, right?” “Cut the guy some slack. He’ll come around and tell you when he’s ready.” “Unless I figure it out first.” I look over at my truck and see Porter holding his arm out the window tapping on his watch. Laughing. Bastard. A missing Benjamin from my wallet makes no difference to me. Those few extra moments with my new neighbor were worth every penny for laying the foundation for my next welcome-to-the-neighborhood happy from Adelyn Maxwell. Yes. I believe I’m going to like this neighborhood a lot.

Adelyn Maxwell

LAWRENCE BROUSSARD ISN’T ALONE. HE’S HERE TOO. HER BROTHER. MY GOOD-LOOKING NEIGHBOR. Oliver Thorn. I am not disappointed. Oliver and I spoke the day he moved in next door but there hasn’t been another word since. Not even a wave in passing. It’s unfortunate our paths haven’t crossed. I’ve been mildly naughty this week where Oliver is concerned. Peeking out my upstairs window to see what’s going on over at his place. Watching him work on his motorcycle. Shirtless. Studying the tattoos on his chest and arms. Spending a little more time in my backyard around the pool. Wearing a new, skimpier-than-usual bikini I bought to entice him into looking my way. I wonder if he peeked out his window to steal a glimpse of me. I wonder if he worked outside shirtless to catch my attention. I wonder if he came here today so he could see me. There’s been no mention of a wife or girlfriend. Lawrence is the only woman I’ve seen hanging around Oliver’s house but that doesn’t mean he’s single. Or looking. Wow. That thought makes me sound as though I’m looking. I follow the host toward the table and stumble when the toe of my heel catches on the rubber trim between the tile and carpet. “Shit.” The host catches my arm and saves me from face-planting. Damn, that would have been humiliating. “Are you all right?” I quickly straighten and look to see if Lawrence and Oliver saw my clumsy folly. Thank God they’ve not yet noticed my arrival. “Yes. Appreciate the quick save.” Oliver stands when he sees me. Very gentlemanly. Not something all men do these days. That smile. It’s almost cheeky, but definitely endearing, and something I have seen over and over in my mind since the day we met. Not gentlemanly at all. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. I won’t go into why but please know I’m not typically tardy.” I despise being late. It’s rude. Implies you believe your client’s time is less valuable than your own. Oliver takes his seat. “It’s fine. We just arrived.” Kind statement. But untrue. Bread on the table. Beads of condensation atop the pats of butter. Two half-gone

drinks with heavy water rings around the bases. The evidence speaks for itself. I have an eye for detail. Can’t help myself. It’s what I do. “If you say so.” Never argue with a client. Especially when they’re being gracious enough to overlook your shortcoming. I’m seated across the table from Oliver. I was grateful when the host chose this chair for me instead of the one next to him. I was under the impression the greater distance would be less distracting, less intimidating, less personal. Wrong. It’s a direct line for full-on eye contact with those ice-blue lures coaxing me to look their way. Stop looking. Stop looking. Stop looking, dammit. You’re here to discuss business. So be professional and get on with it. “I’m dying to hear about the event you’re planning.” I take my iPad and stylus from my bag. “Tell me about it.” “It’s a grand opening for our business.” Our business. That means it’s Oliver’s too. That’s why he came. His surprise attendance has nothing to do with a desire to see me. Silly woman. “So you’re siblings and business partners? That must be interesting.” “Well, sort of but not exactly.” I’m not sure what that means but I’m interested in learning. “Oliver and their friend Porter are my husband’s business partners. The three of them own Lovibond Brewery.” “Oh yeah. I’m familiar with Lovibond.” “My husband and I started Bohemian Cider Company. It’s a new business, yet an extension of Lovibond, which is already successful. This event won’t be your typical startup company grand opening. We already have tons of clients. Clients we need to schmooze.” Right. Schmooze. With alcohol. This meeting has suddenly taken a turn for the worst. Taking a job like this feels . . . wrong. Like a betrayal to Tommy. I’m not sure I can do it. “Do you have a day in mind?” Maybe their date will coincide with something else scheduled and I’ll be off the hook. “The third Saturday in June.” I open my calendar app and pretend to study the dates; I already know I have an opening. Mrs. Thompson canceled her divorce party. Her husband and his millions talked her into coming back despite the fact he has not one, but two, girlfriends. How can I take this job? I’m a professional so how can I not? I can’t make this decision right now. I need time to think about this. “My schedule is filled, but one of the clients for that day hasn’t paid her deposit. I’ll need to confirm her one way or the other before I can commit to your event.” “Of course. Totally understandable. Should we hold off on talking plans until we know for sure?” I’m not completely sure I’ll decline the job. “I don’t think so. I’d love to hear

what you have in mind. Venue, food, decor, etcetera.” “I was thinking about B & A Warehouse because of the amount of space we’ll need.” “A little rustic but a good choice for this type of event. You can dress it up or down according to your clientele.” “I think the rustic aspect is the reason I like the venue so much. Our clientele is mostly informal. It would be silly to plan a black-tie affair.” “I’ve held events at B & A Warehouse several times. The staff is impeccable.” “I read on their website they offer catering. Is that something you’d recommend?” “I don’t usually recommend onsite catering from the venue but they’re actually really good. And reasonably priced.” “Ladies, excuse me for a moment.” That’s all Oliver says as he pushes away from the table, not waiting for a reply or permission from either of us. His sudden departure is a little odd. And bordering on rude. And then I figure out why when I watch him walk to the bar where a pretty blonde sits alone. Gee. That was a little assholish to abruptly leave the table during a business meeting to go hit on a woman. No. It wasn’t a little assholish. It was a lot assholish. Whatever. Lawrence turns to look at her brother before leaning toward me. “I’m glad he stepped away. I was wanting to talk to you about planning a surprise birthday bash for him.” “Surprise birthday parties are the best. So much fun.” Even for assholes. “When?” “He turns thirty on July sixteenth so we’d finish BCC’s event and then we’d have to immediately jump into it.” “It’s not a problem. Same questions. Venue? Theme?” “I’m thinking Iron City. It has everything I want. A bar, stage for performers, dance floor.” “I think that would be the perfect venue for a big party.” “Ollie has a ton of friends and family from back home I’d want to invite. And college friends. Fraternity brothers. Business associates. The list would probably grow pretty quickly.” “Big guest lists aren’t a problem. But we’ll need to discuss it later because he’s on his way back to the table.” Oliver was either shot down quickly or arranged a hookup in record time. My money’s on the hookup. “Sorry about that.” Lawrence looks confused. “About what?” He points toward the bar. “That.” Lawrence twists in her seat. “Oh, hell.” I clearly don’t know what’s going on but it’s likely I misread the situation. I

don’t think Oliver abandoned our business meeting to hit on a pretty woman at the bar after all. Brownie points earned. Maybe. “What did I miss?” Lawrence’s eyes widen. “I was telling Adelyn about our need for a car service on event night since Lovibond advocates responsible drinking.” Those last two words catch my attention. “I’ve never heard of a brewery that promotes responsible drinking other than making a general statement about it.” “Our product inhibits motor function. Our attitude is that it would be irresponsible to provide our beer and ciders for the public without setting an example of how to enjoy them responsibly.” “That’s such a good point. I wish more people were onboard with that mindset.” Lovibond Brewery is different. Reservations I had about working with them are vanishing. “I’m going to give my PA a call and see if that client came through with her deposit.” Little fib. I locate Maurice’s contact in my favorite’s list and touch his name. “Yes, darling?” “Maury, I need you to check the books for June eighteenth.” “Gur, you were here when that crazy-ass-beotch with the spikey pink-andblonde hair came in to cancel her divorce party.” I don’t need to see Maurice to know his head is impersonating a bobblehead doll as he talks about Mrs. Thompson. That woman sets his flamer ass on fire. I think it’s because they rival one another in the flamboyance department. I nod at Lawrence. “I know but I needed to confirm before I booked something in its place.” “Pu-lease book something in her place before the divorce is back on. ’Cause you will have to put my ass up in the nuthouse if I have to deal with her again. And I ain’t sure our health insurance covers a diagnosis of run crazy after dealing with crazy.” “Oh, Maury, you know you love Mrs. Thompson.” “Oh hell to the naw.” I can just see him swishing his index finger back and forth like a windshield wiper. “Consider yourself in the clear. I’m confirming an event for that date right now so put it on the books.” I wink at Lawrence. “Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. Who’s my rescuer?” “Lawrence Broussard. Bohemian Cider Company.” I end my call with Maury and slip my phone back into my bag. “Spot is reserved.” “Fantastic. Do I go by the office to make the deposit or do that here with you?” Now is as good a time as any to warn Lawrence and Oliver about Maury. “The office. You’ll deal with my PA, Maurice, on all the financials. It would be a lie to say you’ll be dealing with a young, professional African-American gentleman. He’s

loud. Highly inappropriate. Often offensive. He will, without doubt, be wearing something outlandish every time you see him. Probably something with feathers. And possibly makeup with false lashes. But he’s the best personal assistant I’ve ever had. I couldn’t do this without him.” Lawrence laughs. “You had me at outlandish.” I’ve lost clients in the past because they couldn’t handle Maurice or deal with his exaggerated femininity. Good riddance. But Lawrence strikes me as nonjudgmental. Oliver, on the other hand, seems like a man’s man. I’m not sure he’d find Maury’s behavior entertaining. Straight men typically don’t. Oliver’s eyes lock on mine. And damn. His stare is raw. Makes me feel like I’m standing before him naked. And I have a feeling he knows this. I suspect it’s a wellpracticed device. “This is Lawrence’s company. Her celebration. She’ll be the one dealing with Maurice. But no worries. I’m sure they’ll be fast friends. She’s drawn to those who are . . . unconventional.” Lawrence’s company. Her celebration. Those four words catch my attention. So what enticed Oliver Thorn to attend our lunch date? Lawrence pushes away from the table. “I think I’ll make a quick bathroom run before they bring our lunch. Where are the restrooms?” “By the entrance to the left.” It’s just Oliver and me at the table. Unless I count our companion, uncomfortable silence. I don’t typically go blank but this man does something to me. To my brain. To my insides. Everything sort of turns to mush. “My welcome-to-the-neighborhood happy was delicious.” Dear, God. The way the word delicious rolls off his tongue should be illegal. “I’m happy to hear you enjoyed it. What was your favorite?” “The bread, no doubt. I’ve never tasted bread that good.” “Old family recipe passed down for generations.” “It’s amazing. And you can bet your ass I’ll be on your doorstep if I catch a whiff of it baking.” Promise? “I always make several loaves at a time. I’ll bring you some next time the baking bug bites.” “Please do. And tell me how to persuade the baking bug to bite.” “I mostly bake when I’m . . .” I stop mid-sentence when the pretty blonde from the bar approaches our table and stands next to Oliver. Shit. Shit. Shit. Go away, blondie. We were talking. He was telling me how much he liked my bread. He was practically begging for more. And I was about to invite him over to . . . I don’t know. Break bread or something. “Can we talk, Oliver?” “It’s not a good time. I’m in the middle of a business meeting.” Oliver’s expression morphs. There’s no mistaking the change. Pleasant to irritated.

“Please.” Oliver’s jaw is clenched when his chair screeches across the floor. “Two minutes, Lacey. That’s it.” Alone, I stare out the window while I wait for Lawrence or Oliver to return. Lunch beats them both to the table. “Everyone leave you?” “I hope not. I can’t eat all this food.” Lawrence returns as our server comes by to offer fresh ground pepper. “Where’s Oliver?” “The girl from the bar came over. She asked if they could talk.” “Shit. I was hoping she’d leave.” My curiosity is piqued. I can’t not ask. “An ex?” “Yeah. Sweet girl but she has lots of problems. Ollie tried to help her, but you can’t help someone who isn’t ready to be helped.” That could mean a lot of different things. I’d ask more but I don’t want to come off looking nosy. “How’s the quinoa and kale salad?” “Really good.” “I’ve considered trying it but I’m loyal to the Waldorf. It’s never let me down.” I look at Oliver’s plate. It has a seriously short shelf life. No one likes a soggy bun or cold burger and fries. “Think we should ask the server to put that under the heat lamp?” I don’t know if an upscale restaurant like this would have something like that. “Maybe, but let’s give it a few more minutes first. I can’t really imagine him giving Lacey much more of his time.” As Lawrence predicts, Oliver returns a couple minutes later. “Sorry about that. Again.” “What’s going on with her?” I’m probably happier than I should be when Lawrence asks about the situation. “Nothing new. Just drunk like always.” “Geez. She’s tanked? It’s barely noon?” “Alcoholics and addicts have no sense of time when it comes to getting their fix. You know that.” “All too aware.” They both sound like they know. “Did she drive?” “Of course. Because that’s what she does. But I took her keys and called a cab. Put her in the back myself and watched it drive away.” I have no mercy for people who drive under the influence. It’s just so stupid and irresponsible. And completely avoidable. But repeat offenders are a different kind of animal. A potential killer every time they’re behind the wheel intoxicated. Anyone in their path could become a victim. “Someone wants to get drunk? Fine. That’s their prerogative. But they have no right to make a two-ton piece of metal their killing machine.” I regret my outburst the moment killing machine leaves my mouth. This is a business meeting. I don’t get to have an opinion about such things when it comes to clients. It’s bad for business. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said

that.” “You have a passionate opinion. That’s your right, so never be sorry for it.” I suspect Lawrence Broussard has a lot of passionate opinions. I like that. I like her. And I like what Oliver did for his ex. Oliver Thorn. I am not disappointed he came.

Oliver Thorn

“THE BAKING BUG BIT.” ADELYN IS STANDING AT MY FRONT DOOR WITH ANOTHER BASKET OF GOODIES. THE aroma brings my taste buds and saliva glands together to do the tango. “Been eagerly awaiting that bug to bite.” Fuck, I’ve been craving her bread. And, fuck, I’ve been craving her company. It’s been four days since our business meeting. Not that I really ever considered it any kind of work consultation between her and me. Crashing on Lawrence’s lunch with Adelyn was just an easy way to spend time with her. I’ve gone back and forth with myself at least a dozen times about going next door to visit. I’ve stolen many glances of her the last few days. Some from my kitchen window. Some from my driveway. Some from my upstairs guest room that overlooks her backyard and pool. Damn. That woman knows the perfect way to stretch her body on a lounger. And she knows exactly how to wear a skimpy bikini. I especially love the black one, although I’m not prejudice against the turquoise one. It’s a close second. I wonder if she knows I look at her. I wonder if she wants me to. “Come in.” She enters my foyer and looks around. “Wow. I love what you’ve done here.” “Not what I’ve done. This was all Lawry’s doings. She’s the decorator of the family. I’d have posters of dogs playing poker taped to the wall if it were left up to me.” She goes to the table and picks up a framed photo of Lawry and me. “You were such a cute kid. How old are y’all here?” I’m not really sure but our cheeks are fuller. Our eyes brighter. It’s definitely the post Jimmy and Christie era of our lives. “Probably seven and eleven. Maybe eight and twelve.” “Four years apart. Same as my brother and I.” “You’re older?” “No. Tommy was.” Was. “He’s passed?” “Yeah. Car accident two years ago.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Sounds so cliché but I’m not sure what else to say. “Thanks.” She returns the photo to its place before following me to the kitchen. “I packed raspberry butter this time instead of jam. I thought you might like to try it.” “Where in the world do you buy raspberry butter?” “You don’t. You make it.” “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that, but it sounds good.” My sister has a fixation with nutrition, so tasty food is my thing. The pink spread glides over the still-warm bread and then seeps. Damn. My mouth floods in anticipation. Just like a woman after the right kind of foreplay. Fuck. I shouldn’t have thoughts like that while I’m with Adelyn. She’s my neighbor. Not even a down-the-street neighbor. She’s right next door. Our houses can’t be an inch more than fifty yards apart. You don’t fuck with neighbors. Things go bad, there’s no getting away. “De-li-cious.” Something about hearing me say that amuses her. I see it in the smile she’s suppressing. In those dimples threatening to deepen at any moment. Motherfucker. Those damn hazel eyes and long, pale lashes darkened with mascara. Those damn scattered freckles across her porcelain skin. Those damn flaming locks. Don’t look, Stout. Don’t get sucked in. It will end badly. It always does. Change the course of this ship before it runs ashore and ruins any potential for platonic friendship. Neutral conversation. It’s safe. “Did you grow up here?” “I grew up in a lot of different places.” “Military brat?” She’s no longer boss over that smile. It has won the battle. “No. Baptist brat.” “Oh.” Fuck me. Adelyn is a preacher’s daughter. That puts all kinds of naughty thoughts in my head. “What about you?” “Savannah, Georgia.” “How’d you end up all the way in Birmingham?” “Went to Alabama.” “Roll-damn-tide,” we say in unison. She points at me. “Jinx. You owe me a Coke.” I haven’t heard anyone say that in forever. “Don’t have any of those. How ’bout a beer instead?” “I’ll take a beer.” I’m limited on choices at the moment. Doesn’t say a lot for a beer brewer. “Pale Hazel or IPA.” “Ah, man. I’m caught.” She squeezes her lids shut and scrunches her nose before covering her eyes. “I don’t know the difference.” She peeks at me between parted fingers. “Will you choose for me?” “It’s okay. I’m not offended you aren’t a beer connoisseur.” I go with Pale Hazel

because it’s light and usually preferred by people who don’t drink craft beer on a regular basis. “I don’t dislike beer. I often choose it over wine or cocktails, but I’m not very educated about it.” “Then we’ll need to do something about that sometime.” I push the bottle across the island in her direction. “Sorry. All I have is this shitty Lovibond brand.” She takes a drink and nods. “It’s good. Nutty.” “Hazelnut.” Her eyes widen. “You’re right. But I guess you would be since you formulated the recipe.” She giggles while taking another drink and beer dribbles down her lip. Her hand quickly wipes away the drops I wish I could lick from her mouth. You’re going to get in trouble if you don’t behave. “I don’t recall Alabama offering a beer brewing degree. What did you study?” “Chemical engineering.” “Wow. You’re an engineer?” “No. I’m a beer brewer with a degree in engineering. Big difference.” “How does one go to school for something like that and end up a beer brewer?” “I bought a home-brew beer kit when I was a sophomore. Did some research. Toyed with the process. Found out I was pretty damn good at it. My best friend and I spent the next couple of years perfecting recipes. Graduation was approaching, and we both knew we wanted to make a go at a brewery. Found an investor and the rest is history.” “It worked out.” Not everyone is able to follow their dreams. And those who do often fail. “We were lucky.” “And talented.” “Talent is a part of it.” “So your sister married your best friend?” I consider Tap one of my best buddies, but I don’t think that’s what Adelyn means. “No. Lawry married the man who financially backed Lovibond. And then together, they started Bohemian Cider Company.” “Oh, okay. I think I have it straight now.” I want to hear more about this preacher’s daughter. “How’d Birmingham become your landing pad?” “Daddy was pastor of a church here when I was in high school. All my friends were from this place, so I stayed when he moved on to the next church. I lived with my best friend and her parents until I graduated from high school. Went to Alabama. Got a bachelor in Executive Restaurant and Hospitality Management. And here I am.” “And now you own an event coordinating agency. Impressive for someone so young.” “How young do you think I am?” “Based on looks . . .”

“Careful what you say, Oliver.” Her dimples are trying to make another appearance. “I’d guess twenty-two according to appearance. But logic tells me you must be closer to thirty.” “Good answer. I’m twenty-seven.” “You obviously didn’t acquire your agency yesterday. How did you manage to pull off owning a company so young?” “Same as you. An investor.” I’m always interested in hearing another business owner’s success story. “How did you convince your financial backer to invest in you?” “He was my boss.” Sounds similar to our situation. “He must have seen your determination and believed in your drive to succeed?” “No. He believed in fucking me. And owning me. And beating me when I no longer wanted to be his toy.” Fuck. I don’t know what to say to that. She’s silent for a moment before speaking again. “I’ve stunned you.” “Yes, you have.” “Being the investor behind my only source of income gave him power. It kept me close. Under his thumb. He got off on the control he had over me.” “Why go along with it?” She has family. Surely, they would have helped her. “It wasn’t always like that. Things were good in the beginning. I was happy.” Isn’t that how abuse usually starts? Always good at the beginning? Otherwise, people wouldn’t get sucked in. They’d run like hell if they knew what was coming. “I was fresh out of college and ready to conquer the world. Martin was older. Established. Respected. Very handsome. And my employer. I was used to horny frat boys looking for one-night stands. He wined and dined me like a gentleman. Didn’t push for sex in exchange for a steak dinner. It was exciting to have a mature, worldly man like him interested in me.” He was grooming her. And she didn’t see it. They rarely do. “It started with sex. And fuck. I was twenty-two. I’d never experienced anything like that. Because it wasn’t just sex. He knew shit. Kinky shit. And it was good. I liked it. A-whole-fucking-lot.” I don’t want to hear this or how much she liked fucking a son of a bitch who abused her. It’s not right. “We began an affair. I use the term affair because he wasn’t yet divorced from his fourth wife. But I didn’t know that until much later.” Bastard. This story just keeps getting worse. “He financed the startup of my agency. It was my dream so I was driven to make it a huge success. But that takes work. Which takes time. And Martin didn’t

appreciate being robbed of playtime with his new toy. That’s when the abuse started. And it only escalated from that point. So now fast forward through a year of being physically, verbally, emotionally abused. I’d had it. So I did what women do when they’ve had enough. I left.” Finally. Good for her. Too bad it took a year for her to come to her senses. “I’m glad.” “But he did what all possessive, obsessed, abusive men do. He came for me. And because he’s a coward, he did it when I was leaving the office alone late one night.” Motherfucker. “One look into his eyes and I knew his intentions didn’t include me walking away alive.” Monster. “Two things happened that Martin didn’t anticipate.” Adelyn holds up her index finger. “One, the surveillance cameras I had installed the day before, which Martin didn’t know about, recorded everything he did to me.” Her middle finger rises and forms a V. “And two, I survived.” My hands are fisted. My teeth gritted. My muscles tensed. “Please tell me that bastard is under the jail and will never see the light of day again.” Adelyn’s head oscillates. “The story takes an unexpected turn at this point. And you may decide you don’t think very much of me.” I don’t know what that means. “I didn’t press charges against Martin.” Fuck. He got away with it. Another victim without a voice. Another abuser goes unpunished. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I’m actually not surprised. “Abused women often don’t.” Her eyes narrow. “It wasn’t like that.” I’ve hit a nerve. “That’s the abused mentality talking.” “You’re wrong. I was his victim for over a year. But I had no intention of becoming a victim of the justice system. I knew I could show the video to the police, and he’d probably be charged with attempted murder. Being so wealthy, Martin had money to hire a defense attorney who could get him off the hook. Still does. Bestcase scenario? He’s convicted. Serves how many years? Let’s be honest. Probably no more than five with good behavior. So instead of pressing charges, I chose a more proactive approach.” She grins as one brows lifts. “I sent him a copy of the tape and asked him what it was worth for it to not find its way into the mailboxes of all his business associates. The local news. The authorities. Turns out it was pretty important to him. And that is the story behind a twenty-seven-year-old woman solely owning one of the most successful companies in Birmingham.” That’s a lot to wrap your head around. “You’ve stunned me again. But on a much larger scale this time.” “Didn’t expect that out of a Baptist preacher’s daughter, did you?” “Fuck no.” “I don’t share that story with people. In fact, you’re only one of four who know it. Martin and me being two of the four.”

It’s risky telling me something like this. What she did to her abuser is blackmail. A crime. She could be prosecuted and get jail time for something like that. “Why me?” She looks down at the bottle in her hands and takes a deep breath, as if preparing herself. When she finally looks up, the sadness in her expression grieves me. “It weighs so heavily on my chest at times it feels like I’ll suffocate if I don’t talk about it. Today was bad.” I understand that more than she can imagine. Is it possible she senses that about me? “I have this coping mechanism called baking. It usually works to take my mind off it but it was no help today.” “So it’s not a good thing when the baking bug bites.” “Not at all.” “Do you feel better after having talked about it?” “I do.” “Then I’m glad you told me.” “Do you think I’m a horrible person? A monster?” Is she for real? How could I? I’ve known horrible monsters up close and personal, and she’s not one of them. “No. I think you’re a survivor. A fucking brilliant one.” “Maurice is the one who found me. I would have lain there and died if he hadn’t come back to the office for his bag.” Adelyn laughs. “I guarantee not another person on this earth can say they were saved by a gay man’s purse.” “Grateful for Gucci.” “It was a Gucci. A fake one. But Maurice never has to carry a designer knock-off again. He can have as many Chanels, Guccis, Pradas, Louis Vittons as he wants. I’ve made sure of that.” Maurice is Adelyn’s hero. I don’t know him, but he just earned some major respect in my book despite the feathers and false eyelashes. “What made today bad?” “It’s the anniversary. Four years since he left me for dead in the parking lot of my business.” “Four years since you survived.” Suffering and perseverance. Nothing new to me. She is a survivor like Lawry. Perhaps it’s the reason my sister has so easily bonded with Adelyn and taken a liking to her. Kindred spirits. “It’s not just the anniversary. Every year I have to see Martin on the news being praised for his enormous annual donation to a haven for abused women and children.” I’m certain he doesn’t do that voluntarily. “A stipulation of your agreement?” “Abso-fucking-lutely. I’ve fixed that bastard so he won’t ever finish paying for beating my ass all those times and nearly killing me. I want him to remember every slap, every kick, every punch when he’s forced to open his wallet to me and those abused women and kids.”

This feels like a dangerous game she’s playing. “Are you not afraid he’ll come for you again?” “I wish he would. I’m not the same defenseless toy I was five years ago. I would beat his ass into the ground. But he won’t come for me; I have insurance policies in place to ensure all blame would fall upon his head if any harm comes to me. He knows this.” This woman is beautiful. And frightening as fuck. A part of me wants to pull her close and stroke my hand down her hair. Tell her to not worry because she isn’t suffocating. Let her know she can talk to me about the things weighing heavily on her chest and I won’t judge. Another part of me wishes she hadn’t told me anything beyond growing up in lots of places as a Baptist preacher’s kid. Filthy thoughts about a preacher’s daughter are more fun than the echoes of her words about mind-blowing sex with her abuser. And then the last part of me? Well, he just wants to fuck her.

Adelyn Maxwell

I’M SO SO SO SCREWED. What the hell was I thinking spilling my guts to Oliver about Martin? It’s clear. I wasn’t thinking at all. Oliver must deem me insane. Probably criminally insane. And Lawrence will too when he tells her. I’m not foolish enough to believe he won’t. I always get a little crazy every year on the anniversary of my almost death. I think it’s evident to say this year borders on deranged. But Oliver didn’t bolt. He didn’t tell me I was wrong for what I did. He called me a survivor. A fucking brilliant one. Those don’t feel like the words of a man who is harshly judging me for my wrong doings. Yet he must. Because normal people who’ve never experienced that kind of abuse don’t understand. Four loaves of sourdough bread. A dozen lemon cream cheese blueberry cupcakes. Two batches of buttermilk biscuits—from scratch. I’ve baked all morning without a shred of relief. And now I’m out of flour and eggs. I drop the mixing bowl in the sink of soapy dishwater when the doorbell chimes. No. Go away. I don’t need visitors today. I can’t handle it. I’m unmoving. I don’t know why; my kitchen is at the back of the house. No one at my front door can see me. I wait for the next chime but it doesn’t come. Instead, it’s a tap against the glass pane of my patio door. Shit. It’s Oliver. And he’s looking right at me. I can’t hide. Or escape. He’s given me no choice but to come to the door. “Hey.” “Hey. Just wanted to check on you and make sure you’re okay.” Oliver’s eyes leave mine and focus on the spread of baked goods across my kitchen island. Caught red-handed. No two ways about it. “I see the baking bug has been biting hard this morning.” No need in lying or backtracking. “Yeah. The little bastard is riding my ass hard.”

“Are you all right?” I see what I think is concern in Oliver’s eyes. “Not at all.” Oliver comes to me, takes the dish towel from my hand and tosses it onto the counter. “I want you to leave that nipping son of a bitch here and go for a ride with me on my bike.” “I don’t know about that.” “Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle?” “No.” “Are you afraid?” “No.” Yes. But not of metal and rubber or the speed in which the two will carry us. “Then go for a ride with me. We’ll cruise around the block and if you don’t like it, I’ll bring you right back. Promise.” I look at Oliver’s attire and then mine. Shorts and tank top probably aren’t ideal for riding. “Give me a minute to change.” “Okay.” He grabs a biscuit. “Saving these for anyone?” “No. Have as many as you like. Jam is in the fridge.” I return wearing faded skinny jeans, a fitted black V-neck T-shirt, black combat boots. I have no intention of brushing my hair for an hour to remove a bazillion knots so I go with a fishtail braid. “Ready.” “Wow. You look like one badass chick.” I hold out my foot to better display the lace-up boots Maurice calls shit-kickers. “But you don’t just look the part. You are a real badass.” Oliver’s words are a reminder of last night’s blunder. “Yeah, about that.” Do I own it and roll with the badass perception he has of me? Or do I apologize for going there? Was it TMI? I can’t decide so the words don’t come. “I understand more about what influenced your decision than you might think. Don’t be sorry you told me. And don’t be freaking out about it.” “I’m not freaking out about it.” Lie. Lie. Lie. He points at the spread of baked goods that says otherwise. “You are totally freaking out about telling me. But don’t. If there’s anyone who gets it, it’s me.” If there’s anyone who gets it, it’s me. Something has happened to this man. He knows pain. “Tell me about it.” I don’t have to flesh it out. He knows what I’m asking for. Hook, line, and sinker. I’m sucked into the storm spinning out of control behind the dilated blackness of his blue eyes. What I see there confirms I’m right. Something bad has happened to Oliver Thorn. “I’ll tell you. But first, we ride.” “Deal.” Dark stealth. Glossy black rims. Polished to perfection. I’ve seen Oliver’s bike from next door but it’s a much more impressive-looking piece of machinery upclose. “It’s lovely.”

He stops and stares at me. “It’s a custom Ducati Monster 821 Dark. It’s not lovely. It’s badass.” I giggle. Boys and their toys. “It’s a lovely badass.” “Maybe you’re the lovely badass.” Damn. There’s that smile again. I bet he can use it to get anything he wants from women. Lovely. I’m accustomed to compliments from men. I’m often told I’m sexy. Pretty. Beautiful. I once took pleasure in hearing those things from men, especially Martin, but now I receive those words with a grain of salt. And I will this time as well since I’m unsure if Oliver makes a habit of using flattery on women. However, badass strikes a different chord in me; it’s a reminder of the things I told Oliver last night. All my wrongdoings. He holds up a black leather jacket. “It’ll get a little cool even though it’s May. Especially if we’re still out after dark.” I turn and slip my arms into the sleeves. I spin around and he surprises me by closing the zipper teeth and pulling the clasp upward until it stops at my breasts. “A little snug.” I suck in but it makes my chest rise bigger. No way the zipper is going any further like that. It’s obvious the jacket belongs to a woman smaller than me. “Guess my boobs are bigger than your ex-girlfriend’s.” “Breathe out and relax your shoulders.” He pulls the leather together and then yanks the zipper clasp up and over my D-cups. “Your boobs are bigger than my sister’s. This is her jacket.” “Oh.” I smile on the inside, not daring to let him see me delight in him noticing my boobs. Or my relief in knowing he hasn’t put me in something belonging to an old girlfriend. “Next.” I take the all-black helmet he offers and slip it over my head. I study the outline of his facial hair as he works on adjusting my chinstrap. “I feel like a little girl being dressed by her daddy.” He grins but avoids my eyes. “There’s so much I could say to that.” “I suppose there is.” “Feel okay?” “Despite being squeezed like I’m wearing a corset, yeah.” He grins and grabs the end of my braid, twirling the end around his finger. “I love red hair. It’s my favorite.” Oliver Thorn is touching my hair, twirling my hair. My red hair, which he says is his favorite. Do not pant so he can hear you, Adelyn. I wondered if he intended for lovely badass to be flirtatious. But there’s no questioning this. He’s insinuated he has demons in his past, which give him the ability to understand my actions, but he must see I’m a little unhinged emotionally. It isn’t possible to miss. “I once despised it. I used to bleach it blonde with drugstore hair color.”

“Never. Do. That. Again.” There’s an alpha-like tone in his voice. Almost growly. And it sends a sharp tingle down my body. I haven’t felt that in years, and I welcome it. “Don’t worry.” I’m happy to be wearing the helmet so he can’t see the full extent of the smile beneath it. He mounts the blacked-out bike, starts the engine, and revs the loud motor a few times. A curt nod is my signal to take the place behind him. I straddle the bike and slide close to Oliver with my arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Our first full-on physical encounter. Sort of. I don’t dislike it. Who would? The man is ripped. To call it our first could imply there’ll be more, which makes me realize I wouldn’t be disappointed if there were. “Can you hear me?” I jump when I hear Oliver’s staticky voice echo in my ear. I nod. He shakes his head. “I need you to answer me so I’ll know your intercom is working.” “Yes. I can hear you.” “Good. I can hear you too. But unfortunately, the Bluetooth isn’t perfect. The clarity comes and goes so we’ll probably have to repeat some things after we get on the road.” “Got it.” “Want to try the block first so you can feel the tilt of the bike when I turn?” I hadn’t considered it leaning to one side or the other. I guess I pictured it staying completely upright. “Probably a good idea.” “’Kay. Hold on tight.” Oliver creeps around our block and takes the turns slowly, allowing me time to familiarize myself with the feel. “Doing all right back there?” “All good.” “Think you’re ready to hit the interstate?” “I think so.” Or maybe not. Fuck. I don’t know. I squeeze my eyes shut and wrap my arms tightly around Oliver. Not that either will save me. “How fast are we going?” The bike decelerates. “Seventy.” “Which means we were just doing eighty, at least.” “Eighty-five. Are you scared?” I’m fucking terrified. “I thought the ride in the neighborhood would prepare me but playing a life and death game of Frogger with eighteen-wheeler trucks on I-20 is entirely different.” “Going slow on the interstate when everyone else is speeding is actually more dangerous.” I guess I understand how a speeding vehicle might plow into the back of a slowmoving motorcycle. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise.” “Is it possible to take a detour to this surprise?” “Yeah, we can do that.” Oliver merges off the interstate and I’m instantly relieved. “Thank you.” “Lawrence was the same way the first few times she rode with me. You’ll get used to it and when you do, you’ll love it. You’ll beg me to speed down the interstate.” That sounds very much like he plans on us doing this again. And not just once more. “We’ll see about that.” I relax, loosen my hold on Oliver, and enjoy the remaining ride to our surprise destination. “Ah. Lovibond Brewery. Should have known.” “Where did you think I was taking you?” “Honestly, I had no idea. I was only hoping to make it there alive.” “Come on. It wasn’t that bad.” “It was fucking terrifying when it felt like you were going one hundred miles an hour.” “Eighty-five.” “I say one hundred. But it got better.” Oliver uses a remote to lift a garage door and then pulls into the back entrance of the building. “You’re getting a VIP tour.” “I hope VIP doesn’t stand for very intoxicated person since we’re at a beer brewery.” “Not today.” We take off our riding gear and Oliver leads me into the warehouse. “Wow. Those are some big . . .” Hell, I don’t know what those things are. “Fermentation tanks.” “How many beers are in one of those?” “About ten thousand in the smaller kettles. The bigger ones in the back hold over sixteen thousand bottles.” I’m not ignorant when it comes to numbers so I can take a guess at how much profit one tank would make. “How quickly does one tank turn out a batch?” “Some as quickly as ten to fourteen days.” Fast. “That’s pretty freaking impressive.” My praise brings a smile. “Come on. I want to show you the fun part.” Oliver leads me toward the front of the warehouse. He slows as we pass through a hallway lined with doors on each side. “My office.” I peek through the doorway. “Do you spend more time behind the desk or on the sofa?” “The desk since I’ve only had the sofa a couple of weeks.” “Wear the old one out?” “I could say a lot to that as well.” “Then do.” This ought to be good stuff. “The sofa replaced two worn-out office chairs.”

“Wow. That was completely uncreative.” One of Oliver’s brows lifts and a wicked grin spreads. “I have lots of plans for how I’ll wear out the new sofa. That’s where I’ll exhaust all my creativity.” I have lots of naughty images passing through my head. And damn if I don’t have a surge of jealousy when I picture some random woman straddling him on the center cushion. Where did that come from? “Much better.” Total lie. We end up at a horseshoe-shaped bar in the front of the warehouse where I presume the brewery tours end. “VIP tour includes a tasting. Choose any stool you like.” Oliver jumps up and slides across the bar. “You’ve done that before.” “Only one of my many talents.” I’d be very interested in seeing more of those talents. He takes a small tasting glass from behind the counter and fills it with beer from one of the dozen taps on the wall. He places the glass on the bar and pushes it to me. “Hi.” “Hi.” “I’m Stout, and I’ll be your bartender today.” “Stout?” “That’s my nickname.” “For real?” He nods. “Has been since the early brew years.” Stout. I like it. “Should I call you that?” “Up to you.” “I’ll give it a spin and see if it feels like a fit.” “We need music.” He points a remote at the wall and a song I don’t recognize begins playing. “Like Half Moon Run?” “I have no idea. Never heard of that song.” “It’s a band. Not a song.” “Oh.” He tosses the remote on the bar. “Give ’em a try. I’ll change it if you don’t like ’em.” “Sure.” I’m tainted. Oliver knows this so he must realize I won’t be an easy lay. Why is he putting so much effort into me? I don’t know . . . but I like it. It’s been so long since I’ve allowed myself to be this close to a man. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating. “Although you tried it last night, I’m starting you on Pale Hazel to build up to the stouter ones.” Stouter. I think I understand Oliver’s nickname now. I grasp the base of the glass. “I’m drinking alone?” “Sorry. Driving.” “Thank you for that.” “For me driving? You didn’t seem too grateful for it fifteen minutes ago.”

“No. For not thinking it’s okay to drink, even a little, and then drive.” “The benefit doesn’t outweigh the risk.” Agreed. “Your sister was right about me having a very passionate opinion about that. But it’s because my brother, Tommy, was killed by a drunk driver.” “I’m very sorry.” I’m being a total buzz kill, and I don’t want to be. “This is a good song. Mellow. Good beer drinking music.” “‘Need It’ Half Moon Run.” I grab my phone from my back pocket. “I’m tagging it in Shazam so I can buy it later.” I’m sort of a music junkie. I love discovering new music. “Okay, Stout. I rode with you on your motorcycle. And by some miracle, survived. Now, I want you to tell me what you meant when you said if anyone would get what I’ve done, it’s you.” He looks at me for a moment before grabbing a stool and pulling it over so we’ll be sitting across from one another. Face to face. Eye to eye. “I haven’t always been Oliver Thorn. I haven’t always been the son of Quentin and Libby Thorn. There was a time, six years to be exact, when I was Oliver McCollum. Son of Jimmy and Christie McCollum, two of the sorriest, lowdown people to ever roam this earth.” Oliver pushes my glass closer. “Drink. You’ll need it for this story.” I suspect this is going to get very ugly. “Jimmy and Christie weren’t just neglectful parents. They were abusive junkies who came up with new ways to be cruel to Lawry and me every day.” How could parents do that? Having grown up in a loving home where my parents doted on me —and still do—I can’t imagine living in a home where my parents purposefully hurt me. So heartless. “That must have been so frightening.” “Christie’s neglect was equal when it came to Lawry and me, but her abuse focused more on Lawry. Sure, she hit my sister, but she enjoyed the verbal and emotional abuse more.” Martin had loved all three equally. “Addicts are typically pretty happy when they’re strung out. I think she would have been more physically abusive if she hadn’t spent so much time being high.” “I’m sure stopping to beat kids would probably have ruined her euphoria.” His smile in response is solemn. “Christie was a smarter addict than Jimmy. She had more creative ways for getting a fix. When Jimmy was broke, he’d beg, borrow, or steal to get what he needed. Christie would trade a piece of ass for a hit. Jimmy was fucked in that department because none of the dealers wanted a piece of what he had. That caused a lot of problems at our place.” Oh shit. “That is one of the more disgusting things I’ve recently heard.” “Jimmy was a different kind of abuser than Christie. He loved any form of physical violence. Slaps. Punches. Kicks. Assorted objects. And I was his pick. Not to say he was kind to Lawry, because he definitely wasn’t, but I don’t have any memories of him physically hurting her. She doesn’t either. And I’m grateful for

that. I’d have voluntarily taken every beating Jimmy had to give so she didn’t have to endure it.” Protective brother. Reminds me so much of Tommy. “How did y’all get out?” “Christie tried to prostitute my sister in exchange for dope.” No, no, no. “Lawry was only ten but she understood what Christie wanted her to do. So she made a run for it. We were taken away from them very soon after.” “Thank God for that.” “I know there are things I’ve forgotten, and probably blocked out, but I’ll always clearly remember one thing: the last time I saw Jimmy McCollum.” “The day you and Lawrence were taken away?” “No. The last day he ever walked without a limp. The story takes an unexpected turn at this point. And you may decide you don’t think very much of me.” I smile at his use of my words from last night. “I have a feeling this is where your understanding of my situation with Martin comes full circle.” “Yeah. This is where it becomes clear-cut.” He’s about to share a secret with me. A darkness he feels is the near equivalent of mine. He’s trusting me. Oliver grimaces as he tightens his hand into a fist and then watches it relax. He breathes in deeply and releases the air slowly as he repeats the motion a second and then third time. “I was seventeen, approaching eighteen, and right in the middle of a sudden growth spurt. I had three new obsessions in my life that summer.” Oliver’s pained expression morphs into a grin. “Tits. Ass. Pussy. So I was a man on a mission with two goals. Get sucked. Get fucked.” “Quick question. Are your three obsessions and two goals much different at age twenty-nine than they were at seventeen?” Shit. I can’t believe I had the nerve to ask him that. Oliver chuckles. “No. Not really. But there’s new goals added to the old ones.” “That’s what I was thinking.” “My pals and I were getting shot down with high school chicks so we decided the best way to get laid was college girls. We had the bright idea a bar was the best place to find some ladies ready to spread their legs for us.” “Well, I’m guessing you’re probably half right about that.” “No. We were zero right about it. Because there wasn’t one college girl at this bar we bounced into. It was all toothless hags.” “Which is sort of what you deserved to find since you had no business being in a bar at seventeen.” My wit earns a louder chuckle this time. “I would agree with that today. Not so much then though.” “Despite your new obsession with tits, ass, and pussy at this stage of your life, please tell me you didn’t hook up with a toothless hag.” “Fuck, no.” “Okay. I can relax now. Continue on.” “We had fake IDs. Not that this particular establishment really gave two shits

but we decided if we couldn’t get sucked or fucked, we’d get hammered. So the two-buck beer pitchers started coming. It was our first time to pull a drunk.” Oliver fills a new glass halfway at a different tap and slides it in front of me again. “Apricot ale.” He returns to his stool and picks up where he left off. “Good times were being had. And then Jimmy-mother-fucking-McCollum walked in. I hadn’t seen him in eleven years.” “But you knew him.” Because you don’t forget those people who hurt you. It festers. Grows like a cancer. “Knew him immediately. And every bit of shit he did to me came flooding back like I was sitting in a theater watching it happen on the big screen.” And his wound opens. “Every bit of therapy I had went out the fucking window that night.” Oliver Thorn is a beautiful man. But right now, the scowl that mars his gorgeous mouth, the anger in his normally mischievous eyes, shows me that it may have been twelve years ago but the pain is still there. I can also hear it in his voice. “My buddies were drunk and passed out cold while I sat in my parked truck waiting for Jimmy to come out.” What was going through that seventeen-year-old kid’s head while he sat there? “The fucker didn’t know me. I had to tell my own biological father who I was as I was about to stomp his ass. He laughed and told me I could try. That pissed me off even more so I yelled, ‘Let’s dance, motherfucker.’ I liked fighting him. I liked kicking the shit out of him while he was down. I liked seeing his blood on my busted knuckles. I lost all control. I wasn’t myself at all. Not even when I got into my truck and drove away like it didn’t happen. Like I didn’t leave him bleeding and unconscious on the ground.” Oliver’s eyes meet mine and I easily recognize the darkness hiding behind the pale blue. I’ve seen it before . . . when I look in the mirror. “I did those things, Adelyn. Liked every moment. Didn’t regret a single blow. Still don’t.” Oliver leans closer and whispers, “And to this day the pleasure I took in hurting him makes me wonder if I’m more like Jimmy than I care to admit.” How could this thoughtful, protective, sexy man think he is anything like the evil scum of his father? I have witnessed his care of his ex-girlfriend. His care of me when he told me to get on his bike, effectively putting an end to my baking bug. Effectively removing me from my pain. Surely he knows he was mistreated and that it wasn’t okay? “You were wronged in a terrible way. Never question what kind of person you are because you chose to take a stand.” “I’ve never told anyone what I did to him.” Surprise catches in the back of my throat and flutters like a butterfly. “Why me?” “You confided in me with your darkest secret. I wanted to do the same so you’d know we aren’t so different.” His hand slides closer to mine and our fingertips make a game of advance and retreat. I think he intends his touch to be a show of

support. Encouragement. But it’s the single most sexual/non-sexual act I’ve ever shared with a man. “Thank you for confiding in me.” I feel all kinds of growing sexual tension between Oliver and me. It’s nearly suffocating. But something else is there too. A seed of trust has been planted. Now we wait to see if it takes root. Will we nurture the fruit or allow it to be choked by weeds?

Oliver Thorn

“FUCK.” TAP YANKS HIS BALL CAP OFF HIS HEAD BY THE BILL AND SLAMS IT AGAINST THE ARM OF HIS recliner. “Come on, Braves. How many batters are you gonna let him walk before you swap pitchers?” Lawry leans over the arm of the chair so her mouth is positioned above Tap’s ear. “Language, Brou. You know Tripp repeats every cuss word he hears.” He sure does. That little shit is only two and I’ve personally heard him correctly use the word fuck on more than one occasion. That kid is hell on wheels. “Tripp isn’t in here. Besides that, he learns that shit from his mama and daddy. Not me.” “Fuck you.” Warren throws a bottle cap at Tap, hitting him on the forehead. “You see that shit?” “Maybe so, but you know he’s crazy about his Uncle Bou. If he hears you cuss, he’s going to repeat it so he can be like you.” “You’re right.” Lawry kisses the side of her husband’s face. “Thank you. And I know Bridgette will appreciate your effort as well.” Tap drags Lawry onto his lap and nibbles the side of her neck as he continues watching the baseball game over her shoulder. “My beautiful, lovely, sweet wife. Will you please go get a beer for me?” Lawry pulls Tap’s ball cap down over his eyes. “You are worthless. Absolutely. Worthless.” “That’s not what you said last night.” “Good grief.” Lawry punches Tap in the chest and climbs off his lap. “Don’t say stuff like that. People will think we’re having sex or something.” “Or trying to make a baby.” Porter and Warren’s heads simultaneously spin toward Tap. Lawry stops and turns around. “Brou . . . I thought we decided to keep that on the down-low.” “I’m sorry. It slipped out before I knew it.” “Congratulations. Best wishes.” Porter shrugs. “Break a leg? I don’t know what

you say to someone who’s doing that.” “I hope like hell I don’t break a leg. Let’s go with ‘good luck’ instead.” They can forget my input on the correct way to wish one well on conceiving a baby. “I’ll make the beer run.” Warren inspects his beer. “I think I’m good. Thanks.” Tap turns up his drink and gulps the last of it before holding out his empty bottle. “I’ll take one, bud.” Porter holds up his. “I’m ready for another.” The empty bottles clank when I toss them into the trash. “Your turn, huh?” Bridgette says. “Something like that.” God, Warren’s wife has a toddler on her lap and she looks like she’s going to pop out another one any minute. “How’s the new house?” “It’s great. Getting out of that condo and into my own place has been a good move.” Lawry comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “You’re welcome.” My sister has enjoyed taking the credit for my decision, but she’s right. I have her to thank for the push in the right direction. “I had a meeting with your lovely neighbor yesterday.” Lovely badass neighbor. “We finalized everything for the grand opening.” “When is that, again?” Bridgette asks. “Saturday.” “No offense, but I hope I’m not there because I’m in the hospital holding a baby instead.” “That would suit me fine. I don’t think your poor belly will last beyond the weekend.” “Or my bladder.” Bridgette lifts her sleepy son from her lap. “Tripp, go see Auntie Wren for a while.” Lawry takes him from his mother. “Come to me, sweet boy.” “Ava, do you need to go potty?” Ava shakes her head and returns to playing with her plastic ponies. Bridgette struggles to get up from her seat and waddles in the direction of the bathroom as she holds her lower stomach. “Poor thing is miserable.” “You’ll be waddling around like that before you know it.” “Gotta get pregnant first.” Lawry kisses Tripp’s head. “But it’s okay. I’m not discouraged because we weren’t successful the first time we tried. They told us it would probably take a while.” “Don’t worry, sis. It’s going to happen.” “I know.” “Adelyn told me you met at El Barrio’s for dinner.” She sounded as though she

really enjoyed her time with Lawry. “She likes you. I think she’d like to be friends.” “It was a very enlightening get together.” I bet my get-togethers with Adelyn have been far more enlightening. “How so?” “She had much to share about all the time you’ve been spending together. You can imagine my surprise since you’ve not mentioned a word about it, you little s-hi-t.” Lawry covers Tripp’s ears as she spells out the profanity. “I don’t think you have to cover his ears if you’re going to spell the cuss words.” “Shut up.” I guess I need to throw Lawry a bone. “We’ve been getting together a little.” “She left me with the impression you were getting together quite a bit.” Funny how easy and comfortable it’s been. Started as a day here and there but has gradually increased to nearly every day. “I guess.” I don’t want Lawry to read too much into this. It’s not like anything romantic is happening. “You could have invited her over tonight.” Asking Adelyn to come to my sister and brother-in-law’s house on a Saturday night with our other friends would be like . . . a date. “That would have been weird.” “How often do you see her?” “I physically see her every day. It’s sort of impossible not to when she lives fifty yards away.” “I don’t think it’s impossible. How often do you spend time together?” “I don’t know. Not like I’m keeping an appointment book.” “Stop avoiding the question. A couple times a week?” She isn’t going to let this go. “Probably more.” “Did you see her Monday?” “Yeah.” “Tuesday?” “Yeah.” “Wednesday? Thursday? Friday?” “Not Wednesday.” I had a business meeting with a client in Tuscaloosa that day. “Today?” “Yeah.” “You’ve seen Adelyn every day this week with the exception of one.” “What’s the big deal?” “The big deal is you have a girlfriend, and you didn’t tell me.” I knew she was going to do this. “Adelyn is not my girlfriend.” “You don’t see a woman every day unless she’s something to you. And I can promise you this: she thinks she’s something to you.” “She is. We’re friends.” “With benefits?” There’s been some minor flirtation. That’s it. “No.” “Would you like for there to be? And please answer with your head. Don’t allow

any appendages to speak on your behalf.” “I like Adelyn but I feel like pursuing something romantic or sexual could ruin our friendship.” I don’t even know if she’s dated since Martin. It’s possible he may have ruined any chance for her to have a normal relationship. “You’re not sleeping with her because you like her?” God, that makes me sound like a pussy. I look toward the living room to make sure the guys aren’t listening. Porter wouldn’t get finished ragging on me if he overheard any part of this conversation. “As dumb as that sounds, yeah.” “It’s not dumb, Ollie.” “She’s had a rough past with men. I’m not sure where her head is when it comes to dating.” “I wasn’t under the impression she’d be scared off by you. Everything she said made me think the opposite.” “You think she’d be open to pursuing something with me?” “This is what I know: she lit up like a candle when she talked about you.” I’ve had multiple flings since Eden. But I didn’t go into a single one with intentions of becoming more than sex and a good time. I don’t think that’s an option with Adelyn. She needs solid. Substantial. Secure. It’s what she deserves after the things she went through with that abusive asshole. But am I able to offer more than sex and a good time? “It would be thoughtless of me to pursue something fleeting with Adelyn. She’ll want more.” “It’s been three years since Eden broke your heart. Maybe it’s time you give love another chance.” I see what my sister and Tap have. They’re happy. Moving forward with their lives. Preparing to start their family. Don’t I want something like that? A partner in life? The other half of my soul? “I need time to think about it.” “You care about her, little brother. Admit it.” I’m saved from confirming or denying Lawry’s theory by a waddling pregnant woman. “Y’all, my water just broke.” “Oh my God.” Lawry squeals like a little girl. “Baby’s coming?” A puddle collects on the floor at Bridgette’s feet. Gross. “Oh, yeah. I’m not peeing on myself. This is definitely happening.” “Warren. Get in here. Your wife’s water just broke.” He bolts into the kitchen with Tap and Porter behind him. His eyes are fucking huge. “You’re sure, baby?” “This isn’t my first time to give birth. Trust me. I’m sure.” Warren rustles the top of Tripp’s hair. “Hear that, son? You’re getting your baby brother tonight.” A wife. Third baby on the way. Warren’s happy. A wife. First baby almost in the works. Tap’s happy.

No wife but a secret girlfriend. Goofy smile plastered across his face. Porter’s happy. Feels like I’m being left behind. But am I ready to trade the life I have now for a chance at that kind of happiness? Like the stability and selfless love I see in Mom and Dad? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.

I’M STANDING AT MY KITCHEN WINDOW PEEKING OUT AT ADELYN’S PLACE WHEN I CAN’T HELP BUT NOTICE the car pulling out of her drive. Hard not to notice when you’ve been watching your neighbor’s property since six on a Sunday morning because you want to know who spent the night at her house last night. Well, fuck me. It’s a man. Who the hell is he? Boyfriend she failed to mention? Date? Fuck buddy? Friend? Sure as shit ain’t Maurice based on what I know about him. I’m . . . fuck. I don’t know what I am. Confused? Definitely. Curious? Absolutely. Covetous? Fuck, yes. I know I am because I’m seething as I imagine all the things that went on at my neighbor’s last night. Pissed it wasn’t me with her. My phone pings and flashes a notification. It’s from her. Come over for brunch? Fuck. Her spend-the-night company hasn’t been gone five minutes and she’s inviting me over. Like a loyal dog, I want to go to her. But I’m not. Busy. She needs to call some other friend over if she wants to chat about her night of hot sex. This friend doesn’t want to hear it.

OK. Maybe later if you’re hungry. The bug is biting. The baking bug is biting and she’s reaching out to me. Because. I’m. Her. Friend. She entrusted me with her darkest secret. And here I am being a total dick to her because I’m angry I wasn’t the one inside her last night. Fuck my feelings. She needs someone. And she’s asking for me. On my way. She motions for me to enter when I tap on the glass pane of her patio door. “Hey.” “Hey.” I analyze the spread of baked goods to survey the damage. Seems minimal so far but what triggered it? Did the man who stayed here last night hurt her? “Everything okay?” Dumb question. She’s baking so it clearly isn’t. She uses a roller to flatten and spread the dough on her marble island. “Oliver. I am a fucked-up individual. You should probably run away from me as fast as possible.” What the hell? “What’s going on?” “Chad came over last night. Tommy’s best friend who was in the accident with him. He’s had some kind of religious revelation and decided it’s time to forgive the drunk driver who killed Tommy.” Okay. But why did he stay the night? She stops rolling the pin and stares at the dough. “I feel so betrayed. So alone.” She stands motionless for a moment before picking up the dough and forming it into a ball in her hands. “My parents believe it isn’t our job to judge him. We’re supposed to show mercy and forgiveness. But I don’t want to forgive him. I want to hate him. Jill, Chad, and I all understood that. We felt the same.” “Who’s Jill?” “Tommy’s fiancée. One of my two best friends.” Adelyn flattens the dough and goes to work on it with the rolling pin again. “He wants to go see him in prison. And he wants me to go with him.” I’m still questioning why this guy stayed the night. And maybe there’s a way to ask without coming off looking like an asshole. “He came to town specifically for that? To go see the guy?” Sounds like a safe enough way to find out what went on over here last night. Unless she tells me something I don’t want to hear. “Yeah. He and his wife drove in from Florida last night.” Oh. Missed. Seeing. The. Wife. My bad. “What do you want?” “Not to go see my brother’s killer.” “Then don’t.” “Right after the sentencing, I had this very clear picture of his face in my mind.

But as time passed, that image has become fuzzier. Sometimes I try to recall what he looks like, and I can if I try really hard, but I like not having a clear vision of him. It makes him look less human and more like the monster he is.” “I get it.” Sadly, not all those convicted of crimes are monsters, but I can definitely see why she feels that way. She stops rolling the dough and her eyes meet mine. “Again, you’re the one who understands me and where I’m coming from.” “I do.” There’s so much pain in her eyes. Agony. I want to make it better for her. But I have no idea how to do that. She looks down at her therapy. “I’ve totally fucked this up. It won’t be edible. How ’bout waffles instead?” She looks up at me and I am nearly blindsided by her sorrow and disappointment. But then her small smile makes an appearance, and I’m more than transfixed. Waffles. She wants to make me waffles. Waffles don’t require baking. “I’d love some.”

Adelyn Maxwell

A DOZEN SERVERS ARE WHIRLING THROUGH THE LARGE CROWD OF LOVIBOND GUESTS. EACH WAITPERSON IS carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres, beer, or hard cider on his or her fingertips. Clients and friends of the companies are laughing, eating, drinking, and enjoying the grand opening. The venue. Food. Decor. Music. Everything has come together splendidly. I’ve been busy ensuring the night runs smoothly so I’ve not had time to speak to Oliver. But our eyes have met on several occasions. Each time I’ve failed at suppressing a smile. But I’m not smiling now. Oliver’s with a woman. A beautiful brunette with lots of curves in all the right places. And they look very well acquainted with one another. I don’t love it. Oliver and I aren’t a thing. We’re neighbors who share a lot of things in common and enjoy each other’s company. But lately I’ve been thinking I may want to share more with him than just things in common. I may want to enjoy more than just his company. I may want to share myself with him and watch while he enjoys it. While we enjoy each other. I was hoping we could explore that later tonight. But it’s going to be hard to make that happen when he’s wrapped up in another woman. Who is she? The brunette takes his hand and attempts to pull him to the dance floor. He’s resistant at first but gives in. I don’t care to watch him hold her so closely so I busy myself with straightening already perfectly placed roses in a floral arrangement. “Adelyn.” I turn at the sound of Lawrence’s voice. “Everything is perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better event to celebrate the beginning of our cider company.” Lawrence is literally one of the most gracious people I’ve ever met. Kind. Grateful. Unlike most of my clients who act so damn entitled. It’s a nice change. “I’m thrilled you’re pleased with the way everything turned out.” I went the extra mile for Lawrence; I wanted this event to be perfect for her. And Oliver since BCC is a reflection of Lovibond.

“I can’t wait to see what you come up with for Ollie’s birthday. He’s going to be so surprised.” Oliver’s thirtieth birthday is going to be a night he’ll never forget. “I promise you this: good times will be had.” “I have complete faith in you.” I occupy myself with a bit of this and that. And fight the urge to search for Oliver. I’m afraid of what I might find. Or not find in case he’s slipped away with Miss Bootylicious in the tight red dress. I leave the kitchen and come face to face with Oliver, minus the curvaceous brunette. Was he waiting outside the door for me? It sorta feels that way. “Hi.” “Hi.” “Do you have a free minute?” I’ve been dying to talk to him all night but I didn’t want to make the first move since these are his people. “Absolutely.” “I have someone I’d like to introduce you to.” My heart plummets to my toes when I realize his intention for finding me. Smile. Smile. Smile. “Oh, yeah. I’d love to meet your friend.” “What friend?” He seems genuinely confused by what I mean. “The woman you were dancing with. Red dress.” “No friend. That was a client. And not who I want you to meet.” He takes my hand and loops it over his arm, leading me across the warehouse. “You’ve topped anything the old event coordinator ever planned for Lovibond.” It’s always good to hear praise, but coming from Oliver’s lips, it feels like a welcome caress. “I’m glad you like the things I chose.” “Our clients are impressed. That makes me very happy.” Mission accomplished. “We aim to please since that tends to be good for business.” “I would agree.” We approach a man and woman, both appearing to be in their sixties. “These are my parents. Quentin and Libby Thorn. This is my neighbor, Adelyn Maxwell.” Mrs. Thorn surprises me with a hug. “Very nice to meet you, Adelyn. We’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you.” From whom? Lawrence or Oliver? “It’s very lovely meeting you. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you as well.” This fact I’ve enjoyed learning about Oliver Thorn throughout the last few weeks: he loves his parents and Lawrence very much. I hear it in the way he talks about them. Quentin and Libby Thorn. A childless couple from Savannah who took a broken little boy and girl and used love and compassion to make them whole for the first time in their lives. That’s a true love story. “How long are you in town?” “We have to leave for home in the morning.” That’s too bad. “I’m going to issue you a rain check for breakfast next time you’re in town.” Mrs. Thorn lights up when Oliver puts his arm around my shoulder. It feels like

he’s saying I’m his even if I know I’m not. But I still like it. “This woman bakes some of the most amazing bread you’ll ever put in your mouth.” “Then we definitely have to take you up on your breakfast offer next time we visit.” “I would love that.” Oliver squeezes my shoulder. “Is it against policy for the event coordinator to accept a dance invitation while on a job?” “Maybe. But I am the boss. I don’t think anyone will call me out on it.” “What about it, sweet Lib?” Oliver’s dad takes his mom’s hand in his and kisses the tops of her fingers. “My beautiful girl wanna take a whirl with me on the dance floor?” Oh my God. Absolutely. Adorable. I see exactly where Oliver gets his charm. Mr. Thorn is a sweetheart. A real gentleman. Mrs. Thorn’s brows lift. “Beautiful girl, huh? Sounds like someone is buttering me up so he can get lucky later tonight.” Oliver’s mom leans over and winks at me. “And I bet he does.” Freaking. Priceless. Mr. Thorn tugs on his wife’s hand. “Come on, my beautiful girl. Let’s show them how it’s done.” Oliver’s mother uses her free hand to touch my arm. “In case we don’t get to talk later, it was lovely meeting you, Adelyn.” “You, too. And I’m serious about that rain check.” “Look forward to it, darlin’.” I can’t not smile as I watch the Thorns take the dance floor by storm. Oliver reaches for my hand and tugs. “Come on, my beautiful girl.” He’s repeating his father’s words to be funny but they still turn me into a puddle on the floor. I’m still grinning when we find a spot on the floor. “Entertaining, right?” More than entertaining. “Your dad is so sweet and romantic.” “He’s good to Mom but no better than she is to him.” “Still madly in love. The world sees too little of that today.” “I’m glad they’re still in love but sometimes they act like teenagers going at it. It’s embarrassing.” “Awe. I think it’s wonderful.” “It’s not wonderful when your friends are spending the night and they can hear your parents’ headboard slamming against the wall.” I burst into laughter, and he pulls me against his chest. “Okay. Done talking about that.” “Dear Trouble” by Correatown is playing. The song is slow. Not necessarily what I’d consider lovey-dovey romantic but perfect for being pulled close and moving together. “This is a nice song.” “Good for dancing.”

Oliver’s hand is low and tight on my back as he leads me in a slow sway. “I’d like to ask you something.” People don’t usually say things like that unless the question to follow is a hard one. “Ask away.” “Have you dated since Martin?” Oliver and I have been hanging out for several weeks. He knows my deepest, darkest secret about the man who abused me, so I’m curious why he’s only now asking me this question. “I’ve been on some dates but not many.” All four were disasters. “But I have not had a relationship since him.” “Not interested?” I’d love nothing more than to find someone to love and spend my life with. But I’m sort of fucked up after nearly being killed by a man who was supposed to love me. “Relationships require trust. I placed trust in the wrong person once, and it did not serve me well. It’s a lesson I won’t soon forget.” “How long since you’ve been on a date?” There would be some math involved if I tried to figure it out. “A long, long, long time. What about you?” “I was in a relationship three years ago with a woman I loved very much. I was only days away from asking her to be my wife when I came home early and found her in bed with another man.” Ho-ly shit. What the hell was wrong with that woman? Oliver is kind, generous, funny, and sexier than any man I have ever known. What a stupid bitch. Her loss. My gain. “I can’t imagine what that felt like. It must have been brutal.” “Huge kick to the gut. And balls.” “I bet.” “I placed trust in the wrong person once, and it did not serve me well.” He smiles as he recites my words. He seems to like doing that. Repeating my words. In some senses it’s lovely because it shows me he’s listening. “I feel like I need to be really honest about where my head’s been the last few years. It’s not the most upstanding place it could have been.” He worries I’m going to think he’s dishonorable? Me? “Have you not yet figured out you can be honest with me?” “I wasn’t in a good place after Eden’s betrayal. I went through a lot of booze. A lot of women and meaningless relationships. Do you remember the drunk woman from the restaurant when we met for lunch about tonight’s event? She’s only one of many.” I don’t love hearing how he went through women but it’s his past. “I did other things, too, which don’t make me very proud.” Other things. “You placed your trust in Eden, and she betrayed you. You had no choice but to put caution tape around your heart. Not allow anyone in.” “I love how you get me.” “I love how you get me.” I lean in and press my face to his chest as we sway; I’m afraid he’ll see too much

if he looks into my eyes. Warm breath hovers above my ear and I erupt into chills. “Would you consider going on a date if the right person asked?” I bite my bottom lip and suppress my smile against his chest. “Maybe.” “What would it take to be the right person?” His voice is low. Tantalizing. “Well . . . he’d need to be kind and considerate. Respectful of me and my many boundaries. Trustworthy. Handsome would be a plus.” Oliver takes a step away from me so I’m no longer able to hide my face against his chest. “Am I any of those things to you?” “You are all of those things to me.” And so much more. “You make me laugh. Smile. Feel. I like being with you. I like who I am when we’re together. I like . . . you.” Admitting feelings like those is a scary thing. But Oliver did it, not knowing what kind of reaction he’d get from me. He is handing over his trust to me. Reminds me of the leap we took when we confessed our secrets to one another. Would he really believe I wasn’t interested? I have the same feelings for Oliver. He makes me laugh. Smile. Feel. I like being with him. I like who I am when we’re together. I like him. But admitting those feelings may be even more frightening than sharing my secret. “I like you too.” “I have a wonderful family, great friends, a successful business. But my personal life is an empty shell. I want that to change, but I worry too much has happened. I’m afraid I’m incapable of the things a relationship requires.” There’s that smile, this time slow-forming, but still beautiful. It’s as though he crawled into my mind and extracted those words from my brain. “We like each other. We like being together. Maybe we just go on a date and not worry about all the other stuff?” “I’d like that. Does Saturday night work?” I rarely have a free Saturday. It’s the price of having a successful agency. “I have an event. With my line of work, I’m usually tied up late Friday evenings until the end of the event. Sometimes they’re two and three days long.” “I didn’t want to wait a week anyway. Let’s do it tomorrow night.” That’s very soon. And exactly what I want. “Yes.” “Whatever you want to do, I’m in. Name it.” A normal first date typically involves dinner in a restaurant. Maybe a movie at the theater. Boring. I don’t think normal or typical fits Oliver and me. Our unfortunate life experiences have seen to that. “I have an idea, but I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.” “I’m open to whatever you want.” I don’t know about that. “Maurice performs at a club on Sunday nights.” Oliver’s brow wrinkles. “What kind of club?” “Exactly the kind you’re thinking.” “Oh. What kind of act?”

“He sings. In drag. While impersonating Whitney Houston. Goes by Wet Me Houston.” Oliver tells me Lawrence is unconventional so he’s used to different. But Maurice is . . . Maurice. I highly suspect Oliver’s never experienced anything like him. “It’s all very over the top. Sequined dress. Wig. Dramatic makeup. Boobs. But he’s incredible. It’s an a-ma-zing show.” Oliver looks unsure. Or terrified. I can’t decide which. Madame Dragonflys could be a little much for a first date. I don’t want to push him into something that’ll make him uncomfortable, but I am an eclectic person and this is part of me. Supporting my biggest supporter. “I understand how all of that could be awkward for you. We don’t have to go there.” Oliver exhales deeply through pursed lips. “Maurice is important to you. He’s your friend, so yeah. Let’s do it.” He gets me. “Really?” He isn’t all in. I can feel it in his tense posture. But he’s doing it anyway. For me. “Absolutely. I’m sure it’ll be a blast.” “Show starts at nine.” Thinking I can surprise Maurice on this one, so telling him isn’t going to happen. “Want to come over to my place for dinner first? Maybe have some homemade pizza?” “Only if you let me help.” Cooking together. That should be fun. “Only if you bring the beer.” “I think I can handle that. Thick or thin crust?” “Thin.” I snap my teeth. “I’m a texture girl. I like crunch.” “Me too. Red or white sauce?” “Depends on my mood.” “I like both.” “I make a really good margherita with red sauce or a roasted artichoke and spinach on white. Sometimes, I add grilled chicken to that one.” Why do we have to choose? “Or we could fix both.” People think pizza is difficult but it’s a very easy meal to prepare. “I vote for both. You know how I love to eat.” The man can shovel it in. “I sure do.” “If I’m not careful, you’ll put some pounds on me with all your goodies.” Truth. “Why do you think I go around giving all of it away? I gained ten pounds when I started baking. Took four months to lose it. It comes on way easier than it comes off. It’s one of the worst therapies anyone can have. I don’t know why I couldn’t get the itch to clean or something like that?” “The baking bug bite is far gentler than the itch to use your fists.” Oliver told me about the incident with his father but he didn’t mention anything about fighting being an ongoing problem. Huge fucking red flag. “Physical violence is your outlet?” “No, Adelyn. No. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant at all. I train with a boxing coach. A punching bag is the only thing to ever feel my aggression. Never a

woman.” He said he itched to use his fists. His words. “Look at me.” He holds my chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding my face so we’re eye to eye. “Never. Not once have I ever hurt a woman. Tell me you believe me.” This is important. I can’t afford to be wrong again. I can’t afford to believe lies. I can’t afford to fall for a man who will hurt me. But Oliver won’t. I sense it in everything about him. “I believe you.” The song ends and he’s still holding my face. His thumb skates across my bottom lip. “The only reason these lips should ever be swollen is because they’ve been kissed long and hard.” I instinctively lick my lips. Kissed long and hard. Those words do so many things to my insides. “I could go for some of that.” And so many other things. “Sorry to interrupt, Adelyn, but Michelle needs your help in the back.” Dammit to hell. I sigh, gathering patience before replying. “Be right there.” Oliver releases me. “Duty calls.” “Duty calls with extraordinarily bad timing.” “It’s okay. We’ll finish this when we have all the time in the world.” Yes, we will.

Oliver Thorn

I ENTER ADELYN’S KITCHEN AND HOLD UP A SIX-PACK IN EACH HAND. “I COME BEARING BEER.” “Nice. But I think we’ll be tanked if we drink all that.” Her eyebrows lift toward her hairline as she laughs. “Or is that part of the plan because of where we’re going later?” I think Adelyn is far more worried than me about the drag club. Sure, I wouldn’t choose to do something like that on my own, but I’ll go for her. “It’s for fun. I’m cool with it.” “I’m glad you feel that way. I think you’ll be surprised by how entertaining it really is. It’s like Miss America meets Broadway meets Cirque du Soleil minus the acrobats. Very theatrical.” That’s how I’m looking at this. Entertainment. I place two opened beers on the island before putting the rest in the fridge. “I brought a new kind for you to try. Saison.” “Ah, thanks. I’m going to be a beer expert before too much longer.” She takes a drink and nods. “Has a nice flavor.” “I thought you might like it. The carbonation is high and the essence is fruity.” “You’re getting to know my taste buds pretty well.” Not nearly as well I’d like. But I plan to know her taste buds and tongue and mouth and lips a lot better before tonight is over. I survey the ingredients lined up on the island. “No Chef Boyardee crust, huh?” “Nope. We’re making these bad boys from scratch.” “All right.” I slap my hands together. “Let’s do this.” Adelyn holds out a measuring cup and container of white powder. I guess I’m doing. She’s instructing. “First lesson in making a thin pizza crust. Use bread flour. It makes it crunchier than all-purpose.” She shows me how to level the cups of flour with a straightedge knife and then watches as I dump them into a large mixing bowl. “Good job. Now we’re going to add the kosher salt, sugar, and yeast.” A light dust of white spins into the air when she briefly turns on the stand mixer. “Just giving that a little twist to mix the dry stuff before the wet goes in.” I add the water and olive oil and watch as the powder transforms into a gooey

ball. “Looking good. You may be a natural born pizzerian.” “Is pizzerian a real word?” “Probably not but I like the way it sounds.” This dough ball isn’t very big. “You sure this is gonna make two pizzas?” “It’s gotta rise for an hour. It’ll be twice as big when it’s ready.” I should know better than to question the baker. “Right. The yeast.” And I should have known that. “We can work on our sauces while the dough does its thing.” Adelyn guides me step by step through mixing, sautéing, and simmering both pizza sauces. “I can see where cooking could be therapeutic.” “It’s sort of a roller coaster for the thought process. It can require a lot of concentration one moment and then you have a lag where your mind can run free.” Adelyn tastes the red sauce and then spoons a sample into my mouth. “Needs a wee bit of salt?” “I think so.” She tosses in the white granules and then tastes again. “Perfect.” “A watched crust doesn’t rise. Let’s go out back and put our feet in the pool while we wait.” I’ve been expecting an invite to swim for a while. Submerging my feet from the steps isn’t exactly what I had in mind. “You don’t use this pool much.” Her face swivels so she can look at me. “How do you know?” No need in pretending I don’t spy. “I peek over into your backyard.” A lot. “I don’t get to use it as much as I’d like since summer is always a busy time for the agency. I’m tied up most weekends.” “I understand you want your business to be successful but you need to take time to enjoy life. And this pool. It’s killer.” I can’t imagine having something like this twenty feet from my back door and not using it. “I’m gone a lot during the day but I swim at night pretty often. Guess you don’t see that.” Well, hell. I hadn’t considered that. But I probably couldn’t see anything anyway. “No, I haven’t.” “Technically, I guess it’s called skinny-dipping instead of night swimming.” Damn. She’s in her backyard naked, and I had no idea. “Well, that’s just cruel to tell me that.” She laughs. “It’s liberating. You should try it.” “I’m still waiting on my invitation.” “Wanna go for a dip tonight after we get back from the club?” Fuck. Yeah. “Sure. Sounds fun.” I try to play it cool. Like I’m not as excited as a sixteenyear-old boy about to get his first feel of some tits. Her tits. I’m gonna get to see them. Hell, I’m gonna get to see it all. “Question. Your nickname is Stout. Lucas’s is Tap. But Porter is just plain ol’ Porter?”

“Yeah.” “Seems like he got gypped.” We get this question a lot. “Porter is a type of beer. No reason to give him a beer name when he already has one.” “That makes sense.” “You have a nickname?” “My friends and family call me Addie. Super creative, right?” “Doesn’t fit your personality to me. I like Max for you.” Short for Maxwell. “Max?” She smiles as she nods. “Yeah. Way better than Addie.” “And way better than Ollie.” “I like Ollie but it feels like your sister’s special name for her little brother. And Stout feels like it’s reserved for Lovibond people. You have a great last name so I’m going with that. You’re Thorn.” I’m okay with that. It’s odd how a name dictates so much of your life and molds the way people perceive you. It’s been a source of trouble for as long as I can remember. “At least my real name has made a comeback. People name their poor babies Oliver all the time these days, but it was not a cool name to have twenty-five years ago. And it was not cool to be the scrawny, stinky kid who lived in a trashy trailer park. You can’t even begin to imagine how bad I got teased by the other kids at school.” “Kids can be so cruel sometimes.” “Adults too.” I used to ask my classmates at lunch if I could have the food they didn’t eat. I would take it home for supper. Until Mrs. Patterson put a stop to it. She claimed I was bullying the other kids by making them give me food from their lunch trays. She told me if it continued, I would be punished. I never understood why she did that. She had to know I didn’t get enough to eat. I couldn’t have bullied a fly if I tried. She knew that. “Do you know where your parents came up with your name?” I haven’t told this story in a while. “Christie had a drunk uncle who offered her one hundred bucks to name her kid after him.” Adelyn looks like she may laugh. Until she sees I’m serious. “Nooo.” “I shit you not. His name was Lawrence Oliver Jackson. He was named after Laurence Olivier but his mother was a dumbass and spelled it wrong.” Not the brightest bunch of people. And I’m genetically tied to them. Damn. I strongly believe nurture overpowered nature. Otherwise, Lawry and I would be just like the McCollums instead of the Thorns. “Lawrence was lucky enough to get his first name. I got the leftovers four years later which he apparently thought was worth less money since Christie only earned a measly fifty dollars for giving me that name.” Fifty fucking bucks for me to carry his namesake a lifetime. Ignorant fuckers. “Although I love both names, that’s really sad.” “I have to laugh about it because it’s so fucking stupid. And the alternative of laughing is so much worse.” It would eat me alive if I allowed it. I refuse to let that

kind of trash make me miserable for the rest of my life. “It’s a little surprising your birth parents only had you and your sister. People like that usually have a bunch of kids.” “True. I’ve thought that too. They were fifteen when Lawrence was born, nineteen with me, which is a long time for teenagers who lack the common sense and inclination to use birth control.” “Good Lord. They still needed parenting when they became parents.” From what I remember, our grandparents weren’t much different than Jimmy and Christie. Just older versions of addicts and abusers. “I’m not really sure why they didn’t have a trailer full of kids. That would have meant more welfare. A bigger payday. I guess we can thank nature for taking care of it for them.” “Nature has a way of doing that sometimes.” That doesn’t strike me as a casual statement. And the look on her face confirms it. “You know from experience?” “I was pregnant with Martin’s baby when I left him. It didn’t survive his attack.” “Holy shit, Adelyn.” “I didn’t know I was pregnant until I woke up in the hospital and they told me I’d lost the baby. At the time, the miscarriage felt like nothing more than a medical diagnosis. I know that sounds cold, and like nothing you’d expect to hear from a mother, but I never had the experiences that go along with finding out you’re pregnant. It was already dead and gone from my body by the time I found out. For me, it was as though it never existed.” “That makes him a killer. Maybe not in the traditional sense of the word but the outcome was still death.” The anniversary marking her almost death is also a reminder of the baby she lost. Regardless of the circumstances surrounding the child, that can’t be easy. “Did you ever see a therapist?” “I did. Seems like I’ve spent more time in therapy than any one person should.” The abuse. Her near death. Her brother’s death. Loss of her baby. That’s a lot for one person. How is she so self-contained? So lively? So . . . incredible? “That’s how I got turned on to baking. My therapist suggested I try something constructive. At times, I think it’s the only reason I don’t lose my mind completely.” Adelyn draws a deep breath and exhales slowly. “But you know what? This is not first date material.” I smile. She is right though, and I don’t want her to be sad tonight. “Think the dough is ready?” “I hope so because I’m starving.” She gets up and reaches for my hand. “Come on, pizzerian. Let’s go make some pizza.”

MOTHERFUCKER. No way I’m in a drag bar watching this. Except I am. And I will never hear the end of it if Tap and Porter find out I was in a drag club. A tall, voluptuous blond named Pussy Galore introduces himself . . . herself . . . as the host for the evening. She’s decked out in a fully sequined dress, wig, cosmetics. And her tits are enormous. “What’s the chest situation?” Adelyn tilts her head and lifts a brow. “Is someone drag-curious?” Does that mean the same thing as bi-curious? “No. Just plain ol’ curious.” “It’s different from person to person. Some take female hormones. Some have undergone full-on sexual reassignment. Some have man parts with breast implants. Some are plain men who’ve done nothing besides glitter and sequins.” “The ones without real tits stuff their bra?” I use the word real loosely. “Well, yeah, but not like a pre-puberty girl. No socks or tissues. A lot of them buy the same products as women who’ve had mastectomies.” I don’t understand this. The thought of dressing like a woman has zero appeal to me. Don’t want to be or look like one. Only want to be inside one. And often. But I guess the same can be said for these men. A lot of them probably have zero desire to ride a motorcycle or pound their fists into a punching bag or slide their dicks into a tight, wet pussy. Or maybe they do those things and this too. I don’t know. Don’t really care. I’m only here because Adelyn asked me to come. Pussy Galore announces a group of five performers as they dash onto stage. “Damn. They move fast in fuck-me pumps.” “I’ve been wearing heels for fifteen years but there’s no way in hell I could do that without turning an ankle.” The group breaks into song and dance to “It’s Raining Men.” Fitting. “The first performance of the night is always a group.” There’s one African American performer on stage. “Is that Maurice?” “No. He’s probably in the dressing room putting on the final touches of his makeup.” “What did he say when you told him you were bringing me?” “I didn’t tell him. I wanted it to be a surprise.” I can’t imagine getting on stage and doing something like this is easy. “Would he be nervous if he knew we were coming to see him perform?” “No. Maurice doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of him therefore he doesn’t get nervous. I thought it would be in your best interest if he didn’t know

ahead of time.” “My best interest? What does that mean?” Adelyn laughs. “You’ll see.” Pussy Galore returns to the stage when the first performance is over. “And now, ladies and gentleman, put your perfectly manicured hands together for one of our club favorites. Miss Wet Me Houston.” The crowd erupts into cheers and catcalls. Big time. “Looks like the crowd loves them some Wet Me.” “Yes, they do. She’s very interactive with the crowd.” “Which is it? He or she?” Adelyn is confusing me bouncing back and forth between the two. “Different for everyone. Maurice hasn’t had sexual reassignment or breast implants so he’s fine with being referred to as he. But it’s she when he’s in drag.” This is confusing as hell. I thought he wore feminine clothes all the time. Is that not considered drag? I immediately recognize the Whitney Houston song Maurice is going to sing. “All the Man I Need.” “You said he was interactive in the crowd. What does that mean?” “Relax. Sit back. Enjoy the show.” Not sure I like that mischievous grin on her face right now. Maurice, or Wet Me, comes onto stage and I’m shocked by how genuinely feminine he looks. He isn’t tall and awkward like a lot of the queens. I would totally think he was a female if I saw him out on the street. “He looks just like a woman.” “I know. Pretty amazing, right?” He opens his mouth and I’d swear it’s a woman’s voice. “That’s his real voice?” “Yup.” “That is crazy.” Makes me wonder how many times I’ve seen a woman who isn’t really a woman. One of my fraternity brothers was making out with a girl one time and she turned out to not be a girl at all. I always thought it was bullshit, that maybe he was gay and trying to hide it after getting caught. But I see now how it might be possible to get it wrong. Wet Me comes off stage and snakes her way through the crowd. She briefly stops at the tables in her path and flirts with men not in drag. Touching them. Serenading them. She zigzags around the tables, and I know I’m in deep shit when she stops at ours. Oh. Fuck. No. She’s wearing a headpiece mic so her hands are completely free. Free to remove her feather boa and toss it over my head. Free to pull me toward her. Free to plop down in my lap and put her arms around my neck. I’ve never, never, never had a fucking dude in my lap. Ever. Adelyn holds up her phone to snap a picture. “Oh, fuck, no.” She’s saying something but I can’t hear her over the music and singing in my

ear. I’m not going to be a dick about taking a picture with her friend. But I’m not happy about it. I lean in for the photo and Wet Me presses her face to mine while she continues to sing about all the man she needs. All right. I’m going along with the picture, dude, but don’t push it. You’re still a guy with a dick and you’re sitting in my lap. I’m grateful when Wet Me gets up and moves on to another table. “Did you know she would do that to me?” “I had high hopes.” She turns her phone around to show me the picture she took of us. “That is nothing but awesome sauce.” Fuck, no, it’s not. “No one sees that. Ever.” “Don’t worry, Thorn. Just another secret to add to our growing collection.” The audience applauds like crazy when Wet Me finishes her song. “You’ve been a really good sport about coming here. Most straight guys wouldn’t set foot in this place.” “It was entertaining. Maurice, or Wet Me, is very good, but I can’t say I want to come here for our second date.” Adelyn tries to hide her smile behind her hand. Unsuccessful. “There’s going to be a second date, huh?” “I’m hopeful.” “What do you say we go back stage and see Maurice before his next act so we can slip out and continue this first date elsewhere?” Hell, yeah. That earns her a smile. “You’ll get no argument from me.” Adelyn leads me to the back of the club. Many people call out to her, giving hugs, kisses, and hello darlings as we pass. All while eyeing me. I’m blocked by a brunette queen who meets me eye to eye. Feels very confrontational. I might find it a little intimidating if I weren’t so confident in my ability to defend myself. “Hey, newbie.” “Hello.” “Back off, Cherry. He’s with me.” “Just looking, doll.” Her eyes roam my body from top to . . . crotch. “Mmm. We don’t get many like him in here.” “Leave him alone. He’s straight.” “Honey, they all say that.” Adelyn grabs my hand, and we push through the crowd. I’m not at all comfortable with the level of physical contact happening as we pass. “Whoa. Fuck. Somebody just grabbed my dick.” There’s only one person in this place who has my consent to do that. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry.” She moves in front of me and backs up until my cock is pressed against her ass. “Stick to me like glue.” F.U.C.K. My body is smashed against hers but it’s impossible to move together without breaking contact. The more I try to walk with her, the more we counteract and I end

up unintentionally thrusting my cock against her ass with every step. My now rock-hard cock. I’m in a drag club with a huge hard-on. Nothing about that is right. I’m still behind Adelyn with my hands firmly on her hips when she knocks on the door to a dressing room. “It’s Addie.” “Get in here, darlin’. And bring that motherfucking delicious honey with you.” This isn’t Wet Me. This is Maurice. “First of all, bitch. What the hell you coming up in here without calling somedamn-body first?” “If you knew we were coming, you’d have done something far more outrageous than giving him a lap dance.” It was not a lap dance. “But yes. You were right to not call.” Maurice looks me over. “So this is your Oliver Thorn?” Her Oliver Thorn? What has she said about me to give him that impression? “Good to meet you. Enjoyed the show.” Maurice looks at my hands cupped over my crotch. “Liked me sitting on your lap that much, huh?” Even if he uses it for different purposes, he has a dick. He knows what’s happening beneath these jeans. “Umm . . .” How the hell do I answer that? Any reply is going to confirm I have a hard-on. Come on. Go down. Go down. Go down. Fuck. The more I think about it the harder it gets. “Behave, Maury. Oliver got violated on the way back. We had to use my ass as a shield to keep hands off him.” He uses the eyeliner pencil in his hand to point at my crotch. “And your honey looks like he hated the fuck out of that.” “Maury. You’re being wildly inappropriate. You’re embarrassing me. And Oliver too, I’m sure.” “Come on. You want him. He wants you. No reason to get embarrassed over a stiffy.” She wants me? Did she tell him that? “Your ass is fired, Maury.” “Wut-ev-ah.” He waves his hand as if to dismiss his termination. “This is the third time she’s fired me this week alone. Always an empty threat.” “Stop talking shit to Oliver, or it’s going to be for real. You’ll have to be Wet Me every night to make a living.” “Okay. Okay. No more shit talk.” Maurice turns his back to Adelyn, and without saying a word she unzips the back of his dress. This feels weird. “How many more songs tonight?” “Two.” “We’re gonna take off but I wanted you to meet before we go.” Maurice drops his dress to the floor and beneath it he’s clad in all kinds of

lingerie. Bra-corselet thing. Panties. Garter belt. Thigh highs. Everything I love seeing on a woman. On. A. Woman. Damn. This dude could fool a guy. Temporarily. “I hate y’all are leaving but I understand.” Maurice steps into a strapless, red formal gown and spins. Without a word, Adelyn zips him. I get the feeling she’s done this more than once. “What’s the plan?” “Night swim.” “Mmm . . . you’ll be freshly fucked for work in the morning. Do her good, Oliver. She’s always cranky as hell on Mondays. A real pain in my ass.” Adelyn sighs and holds up her hands. “I’m so done here. Let’s go.” “If she’s not wearing a smile in the morning, I’ll know you didn’t do your job right, Oliver Thorn.” I have so many responses for that comment but I choose to keep all of them to myself. She grabs my hand. “We’re going out the back door.” “Fine by me.” I don’t have a desire to get groped again. Maurice calls out to Adelyn. “Love you, darling.” She growls. “Love you, Flamer.” The back hall is far less crowded so we’re able to make a fast exit. “You call him Flamer?” “Yeah.” “Is that not offensive?” “I can call him Flamer. You can’t. Unless you become good friends. Which I highly doubt you want to do after that display of foolishness. I’m sorry about that, but he’s flamboyant. The thought of holding back never occurs to him.” “He reminds me of one of the guys because that’s completely how we talk to each other about women. But we don’t do it in front of them. There doesn’t seem to be a filter there.” “No filter. That’s the perfect way to put it. And you never have to be around him again if you don’t want to.” Maurice is a big part of her life, so avoiding him would be difficult. There is something I’ve realized in the last few weeks. I like being around Adelyn Maxwell. It doesn’t matter what we are doing, I like spending time with her. And I plan on being around a lot. In fact, the thought of not being around her feels wrong. “It’s okay. I don’t think we’ll be riding motorcycles or boxing together, but I can swing seeing him from time to time.” “You make it super easy to like you.” “I don’t have to work too hard at liking you either.” I use the cab ride home to think about the things Maurice said. You want him. He wants you. Mmm . . . you’ll be freshly fucked for work in the morning. Do her good, Oliver. If she’s not wearing a smile in the morning, I’ll know you didn’t do your job

right, Oliver Thorn. I have no idea what’s going to happen tonight. But if I’m a lucky motherfucker, Adelyn will give me the chance to make her smile.

Adelyn Maxwell

I’M GOING TO KILL MAURICE. BUT FIRST I’M GOING TO GRAB HIS BALLS AND YANK THEM OVER HIS EARS. HE can wear them like dangling earrings. That would damn sure be flamboyant. I can’t believe he said what he said. If anyone knows me well, it is Maurice. He found me when I was on the edge of hell. He was beside me every moment of recovery. My rock. He hasn’t ever pushed me toward a man, knowing how fearful I’ve been to offer myself to one. How uncomfortable I have felt. Yet, he likes Oliver. Yes, I have probably said more than I should have about Oliver, but still. He’s wrong for embarrassing me like that. Even if everything he said was right. I do want Oliver. I’d love to be freshly fucked for work in the morning. But only after being fucked tonight. All night. I’d love for him to do me good. It’s been so long. I’d love to be wearing an Oliver-issued smile in the morning. Three years ago, if a man like Oliver waltzed into my life, I wouldn’t have been this confident. This . . . determined. But Oliver has awakened something within me that had been dormant. It’s as if only he can bring that part of me alive again. I need it. I want him. Time to work on that. “You grab the beer. I’ll get the towels, and we’ll meet at the pool.” I don’t mention anything about him going home to get his trunks; they’re unnecessary. It’s dark. We’re skinny-dipping tonight. “On it.” I certainly hope so. I turn on one exterior light in addition to the one in the pool so we’re not in complete darkness. Skinned-up knees from tripping isn’t sexy. And a fall might prevent me from kneeling later. Where has this vixen come from? “We need music.” “No Whitney Houston, please. It could cause some seriously unwelcome flashbacks.” I laugh. “Okay. No Whitney. What about a shuffle of my slow and groovy playlist?” Lie.

Martin berated me in the year we were together. Dislodged something vital inside me. Comment after comment about not being enough to satisfy him sexually. Telling me I was a tramp because I flirted with every man who came near me. Which of course I hadn’t. My therapist worked exceptionally hard to get me to see myself as attractive. Sexy. And this playlist is one of the results. Not slow and groovy. Sexy. “Sounds good.” “As Much As I Ever Could” by City and Colour is the first song up. A slow, seductive sound. Couldn’t have worked out better if I’d chosen it myself. Oliver’s sitting on the edge of a lounger. Unmoving. I think he’s waiting for some kind of confirmation this is actually happening. That we’re really getting naked. Someone has to get this going. I guess it’ll be me. I walk over to the steps leading into the shallow end and kick out of my shoes. “It’s been so hot lately the pool has still been feeling like bath water even at night.” Casual conversation. Maybe it’ll loosen him up. I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the stone pool decking. I unclasp the back of my bra and unite it and my shirt. “Night swimming is actually better for me anyway. I can’t stay out long during the day because I burn so easily, even with sunscreen.” He’s watching me strip. No shame. Not even a hint of pretending he’s not. He finally gets up when I wiggle out of my shorts and panties. I was beginning to wonder if he’d changed his mind about coming in. I descend the steps into the water until I’m submerged to my shoulders, the bottom of my hair floating around me like the painting Ophelia. “Yup. Feels like bath water tonight.” I watch Oliver take off his clothes. It’s only fair to return the favor. I’m sort of kicking myself for not turning on more lights. I would love to get a better look at his body. But I guess there’s time for that later. Hope. I dip my head backward and wet the top of my hair as he walks into the pool. When I lift, I slick my hair back, pushing the water away from my face. Oliver submerges and then pops up, wiping the water from his face. “Feels good, right?” “Feels real fucking good.” I move backward until I reach the wall. The water ejecting from the spout hits my back, massaging the muscle. “You were a good sport tonight. I realize a lot of straight men would not have gone along with that at all.” “If I’m being honest, I probably wouldn’t have had I known prior I would become part of the show.” “You didn’t seem flustered at all. I thought you looked like you were handling it well.”

“That was for you.” He tolerated something he didn’t like for me. The more I get to know this man, the more I’m convinced his ex was an absolute idiot. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” “It wasn’t horrible. But some dude grabbing my junk in a crowd wasn’t cool.” I’m certain the groper did it with the intentions of a laugh since it was very obvious Oliver is straight. I know those people. They aren’t cruel or aggressive but it was in poor taste. And it’s a big deal for Oliver. I see it on his face. He feels violated. “Groping you wasn’t okay. I would feel completely violated if someone did that to me. I’m sorry it happened. I won’t ever ask you to go back.” “Thanks, Max. Never going back will be all right with me.” “I know all of it, including Maurice, was a lot to handle. It was completely out of your comfort zone but thank you for not being unkind to him. Or the others.” Oliver grabs two beers from the decking and swims over to hand one to me. “I can be kind.” “I’m seeing that.” He turns and leans against the wall so we’re side by side. I’m like a lure bobbing on the top of the water waiting for him to bite. “You and Lawrence were pleased with the grand opening event?” “Very.” “Did Bootylicious enjoy herself?” Oliver chuckles. “Bootylicious?” “Tight red dress woman.” “Oh, yeah. Marlana. She was definitely feeling no pain.” “I noticed she got you on the dance floor a second time.” I hope I don’t sound like a prying jealous girlfriend. Oliver owes me nothing. If he wanted that woman, he had every right to take her. “I had no choice. She cornered me.” “From where I was, it looked like she more than cornered you. She got you out the door.” It felt like he disappeared with her for a while. “She’s my customer, and she was hammered. I walked her out so I could put her in a car and know she made it home safely.” “She didn’t put the moves on you?” “I didn’t say that.” So she did try to get him in bed. I suspected as much from what I saw. “Did you fuck her?” Now that sounds like a jealous girlfriend. “No.” “Must have been hard to pass up an attractive, willing woman like that when she’s throwing herself at you.” Where is this courage coming from? “Not when a beautiful redhead has been occupying the space in your head for weeks. And all you can think about is her instead.” Damn. I’ve thought so often about the way it would feel to be in Oliver’s arms. Have his

mouth on mine. Have him inside me. I’ve pictured in my head every possible way for that to happen. And I’m tired of imagining. I want the real thing. I think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t have him. I twist to put my beer on the decking, and he mirrors my movement. We move toward one another so slowly the water around us feels motionless. He stops short of our lips meeting, only a paper-thin wall of air separates them. The strung-out moment before the kiss. His breath teasing my mouth. It’s all a form of foreplay in itself. He pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and sucks hard for a moment before releasing. It’s not done in the gentlest of ways. And it’s sexy as hell. “Mmm . . . I’ve been dying to taste that lip.” I drag it back and forth over his mouth, teasing him. Tempting him to suck it again. And he does. My wet hands glide up the brawny ridges of his arms, shoulders, and neck. A satin mountain of muscle beneath my palms. My fingertips follow the muscles in the back of his neck in an upward direction. He shivers when my nails lightly scrape his scalp and my fingers slide into his hair. His hands cup my hips and squeeze as they pull me closer. I’m weightless as my knees, shins, and tops of my feet skim the vinyl liner of the pool. Full frontal body contact. Full cock pressed against my stomach. Full-blown desire for this man to take me. I press a close-mouthed kiss to his lips. Then another. And another. I open a little at a time until I lure his tongue out to play. I dig my nails into his scalp when his tongue touches mine. A sigh/moan breaks free of the breath I’m holding. The sound elicits a chain reaction of events: Oliver grabbing the backs of my upper thighs and pulling me against him. My legs wrapping around him. His erection pressing between my legs. Nothing separating us. Nothing. I thrust my hips back and forth so his hard cock rubs my clit. He breaks our kiss. “Oh fuck that feels so good.” It feels magnificent. Pleasure without penetration. Without gamble. But also without full satisfaction. It isn’t enough. “Wanted you since day one, Max. You feel even better than I imagined. So soft.” “Shut up and kiss me, Thorn. It’s been too long.” And kiss me he does. Tongues clashing in an erotic dance I’ve never experienced before. Is it him? Is that why I’m so turned on? Or is it because it’s been so long? I need more. My hands leave his hair and travel over his shoulders. Seeing him shirtless was incredible. Feeling him shirtless and wet, un-fucking-believable. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he growls, and somehow I become even more wet. Hot. For him. I want everything Oliver has to give. And judging by his hard cock pushing against me, he wants to give it to me. But he won’t be able to give it here.

Oh fuck that feels . . . “Let’s go to my bedroom.” “Fuck, yeah.” We break contact and leave the pool. I’m squeezing the water from my hair when Oliver pushes himself against me from behind. He wraps his towel around both of us. Sort of. It barely reaches around to cover me. His wet naked front is pressed to my back. His erection poking my ass cheek. I consider giving in and rolling with this scenario. Bending over and letting him fuck me from behind. Right here. Right now. But that will be done and over too soon. I want to perpetuate this. Make it last. Hopefully all night. His arms wrap around my shoulders holding me, and the towel, in place. His lips skim the side of my neck and linger in the bend where it meets my shoulder. He scrapes the skin with his teeth and then sucks it into his mouth and gently bites. The very core of my desire blazes as my body anticipates the things Oliver is going to do to me. And then out of the clear blue the most telling thought in the world occurs to me. I don’t buy condoms. I buy batteries instead. “Shit.” “What?” “Do you have condoms?” “None on me at the moment. Got a new box at my place though.” “You’re gonna need to go get them.” He releases me and bends down to get his clothes. “Don’t. It’s late. Dark. The neighbors aren’t out. Just go in the towel.” I don’t want any delays when he returns. I go up on my tiptoes to nip his bottom lip. “I’ll be in the bedroom waiting. Don’t be long.” “Back in a flash, Max.” I have a few minutes before Oliver returns so I comb my hair and pull it into a bun on top of my head. He has already kissed me but I still brush my teeth and apply a thin layer of lip balm. No one is turned off by fresh breath and soft lips. I hear the chime of the alarm system when the door opens. He’s back. What should I do with myself? Strike a sexy pose? No. A pose is just that. A pose. Looks fake. I go with standing next to the bed holding the top of my towel. Seems natural. Not staged. Oliver crosses my bedroom and stops in front of me. “Hi.” He always amuses me saying that as though we’re meeting for the first time. “Hi.” He holds up the box of condoms. “I have goodies.” “I see that.” He tears into the box of condoms and takes out the roll. He tears off several

squares and tosses them on my nightstand “I plan on there being a next time so these other bad boys are staying here.” He opens the top drawer to deposit the box and I cringe. If he sees my collection of vibrators and bullets, he doesn’t say anything. He’s either blind as a damn bat or thinks it’s in bad taste to bring up the BOBs in my life. He closes the drawer and that cheeky grin of his spreads. The ungentlemanly one. Yup. He saw everything. “Umm . . . yeah.” It is what it is. No need to explain. He untucks his towel and allows it to drop to the floor before reaching for mine, not asking permission. And that’s fine by me. We’re naked and illuminated only by the soft light of the bedside lamp. The selfconscious part of me wants to reach for the switch while the confident side commands me to keep my twitchy fingers to myself. He likes the visuals. He will be the first man to see the evidence, the crisscrossed lines of Martin’s knife, the leftover scars of . . . No. Stop there, Addie. Perfect or not, he wants to look at your naked body. Give that to him. Give that to yourself. Oliver presses a kiss below my ear and moves his mouth down the side of my neck. His big hands similarly mimic the downward motion beginning at my ribcage and moving down my sides, my waist, my hips. I push my fingers into the top of his hair and arch my back when he moves lower to suck my nipple into his mouth. A soft gasp/moan expels from my chest when his tongue licks the erect point. He sucks it into his mouth and nibbles the tip, sending a whirlwind of messages to my groin. Get ready. You know what’s coming. Except I don’t. Because he doesn’t shove me to the bed and push into me quickly. The man goes down on his knees instead. Oh, fuck. He grasps my ass hard and holds me in place as he kisses me across the top of my pubic bone. I close my eyes and concentrate on what he’s doing. Just feeling. Enjoying the pleasure of being touched for the first time in years. Four years. That’s almost half of my twenties without the touch of a man. Such a shame. A damn waste. I jolt when Oliver’s tongue darts out and licks the top of my slit. Oh. Fuck. I can tell those two words are going to be common usage tonight. My face heats and suddenly throbs with the beat of my heart. As does my clit and he didn’t even touch it. But he was so, so, so close. “Sit.” I step backward until the backs of my legs touch the bed. I lower myself, then lean back on my hands as he lifts my feet from the floor and hooks them over his shoulders. I may come just seeing him between my legs. He doesn’t put his mouth on me as I expect. Instead he uses both hands to rub my groin around the bends of my legs. “Scoot back and lie flat. Breathe deep. Completely relax. This may take a while.” I thought he was going down. Which is

what I want very badly. But that doesn’t seem to be what’s about to happen. What is he going to do to me? I slide backward and lower my upper body so I’m lying flat on the bed. He taps my hip. “Lift up.” He slides one of my pillows under my bottom and my curiosity soars through the roof. I can’t stand not knowing. “What are we doing here?” “Having sexy fun. Lots of it.” He bends one leg, and then the other, so the soles of my feet are pressed together, my legs frogged apart. “You’re going to enjoy this. Promise.” He resumes the kneading motion of my groin, his fingers rubbing up and down the area beside my labial lips. A slow build. It’s like holding a lit match next to the fuse of a bomb, threatening to bring it close enough to light it on fire. Yet, he doesn’t. Oliver’s palm forms a cup over the entire area between my legs, his fingertips applying inward pressure on my oh-so-good spot as his hand moves in a circular motion. “That’s it, Max. Rock your hips against me.” Sheez. I didn’t even realize I was moving. I reach over my head and grasp the edge of the mattress. And squeeze. I hold on for dear life; I’m soaring so high I’m afraid I’ll float away if I don’t. My eyes flutter open when I feel the rhythmic suction of his mouth on my clit. Suck-release. Suck-release. Suck-release. “Ohh . . . Ohh.” The sounds coming from my mouth mostly resemble incoherent garble as warm fuzzies pulsate in my lower abdomen in preparation for what’s coming. My body simultaneously tenses and relaxes. The two coming together don’t even make sense. Doesn’t have to. It feels too good to argue their cohabitation. I put my fingers into his hair and fist the top while I squirm beneath him. Tingly waves of sensation toss and turn deep within my pelvis. An orgasmic storm brewing. And a tornado of moans, groans, and panted breathing leave my mouth when the rhythmic flutters in my pelvis rush back and forth like a raging tide racing in for the shore. Oh my God. I’m coming. So hard. I close my eyes and surrender to the rhythmic twitching inside me, pulsation in my face, warm flush growing on my chest. They’re all accomplices to the euphoria coursing throughout me. A cocktail of those wonderful sexual neurochemicals released by the brain post orgasm hits my veins like an intense dose of heroin. There’s a science behind an orgasm, and it’s a complicated thing I don’t dare to understand. Good thing I don’t need to in order to enjoy it. Oliver is already proving to be a take-control kind of lover. It’s what I like. What I crave. What I need to be satisfied. A complete alpha. Nothing less will fulfill me and my needs.

Oliver Thorn

ADELYN IS HIGHLY RESPONSIVE TO MY TOUCH. I EXPECTED SENSITIVITY SINCE SHE HASN’T HAD SEX IN SO long, but she exceeded any and all of my expectations. Bringing her to orgasm that easily was a beautiful thing. And it won’t be the last time I do it tonight. “Shit, that was magnificent.” I press a kiss to her inner thigh but it’s only a brief goodbye. I plan to come back. Soon. And hopefully often if she’ll let me. I crawl up her body, kissing the ivory skin over her stomach, breasts, neck. I’m glad she didn’t turn off the light like so many chicks do. And I’m happy she isn’t hiding her scars from me. I love looking at her; she’s stunning. The most beautiful redhead I’ve ever seen. She presses her fingers to my lips. “I’ve been looking at this mouth for weeks wondering, fantasizing, about what it would feel like between my legs.” “I hope I didn’t disappoint.” She rubs her thumb over my bottom lip. “Not possible.” Adelyn’s knees are bent, legs apart. Open invitation. My body presses against hers. Nothing between us. It would be so damn easy to forget the condom, enter her, and worry about the consequences later. But of course that’s not what I do. I stop and grab one of the condoms off the nightstand. Adelyn strains her neck to see over her tits and bites the end of her index finger as she watches me roll on the latex sheath. Her wide-eyed stare makes my cock even harder. Bigger. I feel like a fucking rock star. “Like what you see, Max?” “I love what I see but I’d much rather feel it.” “Good. It wants to feel you too.” I move from kneeling between her legs to pressing my body on top of hers. She parts her legs wide and my cock finds its way to her entrance without any guidance from my hand. No surprise there. I slide into her easily so I go for the deep plunge. All the way. I love the sound of her gasp-then-moan in my ear. I feel like I should give her a moment to acclimate to having a dick inside her for the first time in years, but I see it’s unnecessary when she tilts her hips to allow me

deeper access. “Fuck me, Thorn.” She trembles and closes her eyes tightly while biting her bottom lip. Whoa. I thought Adelyn would want it slow. Sweet. Gentle. I was prepared to give that to her. But she wants to fuck. Hard. No complaints here. Can give her that. I drive into her hard and with total domination. Every stroke deliberate. Fierce. I move faster and thrust as deeply as her body will allow. Her legs circle my waist but we don’t stay like that long before I grab her thighs and push them back and apart. I move to my knees and sink into her so hard and deep she’ll be reminded all day tomorrow who was here inside her tonight. She reaches for my arm and pulls, cueing me to lower my upper body. This position feels great for me but I guess it isn’t the best for her. I heed her cue and lie down on top of her again. Her fingers follow the length of my arm until they find my hand. She grips my wrist and brings my palm to her neck. It’s an odd position. I have to shift my body so my free arm bears the majority of my weight. No woman wants to be suffocated during sex. “Don’t stop. Keep fucking me.” “You don’t have to worry about that, baby.” No way I’d stop. Being inside Adelyn Maxwell feels too fucking good. She puts her hand on top of mine and places them both on her neck. Our eyes lock as I thrust in and out of her. “Squeeze it.” How do I squeeze her hand when it’s on top of mine? “Huh?” She repositions my palm around the side of her neck and presses my fingers and hand against her skin. “Hold me down. Own me. Show me I’m yours in this moment.” I slow my thrusts despite how close I am to getting off. Because I’m confused about what’s happening here. “Don’t stop. Keep fucking me.” I look at my hand, and Adelyn’s, wrapped around her throat. And then I gaze into those pleading hazel eyes. “It’s okay, Thorn. I want you to do it. I need you to.” And it clicks. Need? No one needs to be choked. And that’s what she’s asking me to do to her. I can’t war with myself about this right now. I’m so close to coming. Fuck, I just want . . . to get off. Need it . . . so bad. I lower my body and press my forehead against Adelyn’s, my hand still wrapped around her throat, as I slide in and out of her. She uses her hand to tighten my hold on her neck. “I want you to own me. Control me.” I tighten my grip, holding Adelyn in place by her throat, and drive into her as I come harder than I have since . . . ever. “I’m coming again. So fucking hard.” I feel the vibration of her vocal cords, and

it’s a reality check. My hand is wrapped around her lifeline. Squeezing. I plunge hard one last time and then sink over Adelyn when the condom is filled and I’m completely empty. Fuck. I’ve never gotten off so hard. Never. But what in the hell just happened? I lift my face from her shoulder. “What the fuck was that?” “Our worlds colliding.” Adelyn grasps the back of my head and pulls me down. Her mouth takes complete possession of mine. Until she smiles and it breaks the contact between our lips. “That was sooo good.” She’s happy. I can’t argue it being good. Hell, it was fucking awesome. But my big hand was wrapped around her small throat. Squeezing. “Max. I was choking you while we fucked.” “I wasn’t choking. Not even a little. I could breathe the whole time.” “Why did you ask me to do that?” “It’s a huge turn-on for me.” No. She can’t mean that. It’s too fucked up. Choking someone during sex is . . . I recall what she said about Martin. He knew shit. Kinky shit. And it was good. I liked it. A-whole-fucking lot. “That sadistic son of a bitch taught you that, didn’t he?” “Do you really want to go there?” I move off Adelyn, roll to my back, and stare at the ceiling. Contemplating why in the world she asked me to do something like that. “Haven’t you been hurt enough?” “I didn’t ask you to hurt me. And you didn’t.” She’s wrong if she believes this is a game. “I’ve been choked. To the point of turning blue and passing out. More times than I care to recall. It’s not harmless.” “It’s not about cutting off my oxygen to make me pass out.” Adelyn gets up and moves over on top of me. Straddling me. She grabs my wrists, pins my hands over my head. “It’s about this.” “Which is what?” “Control. And how I feel when you exert your strength over me. Domination. Power. Control. All of it turns me the fuck on.” “Why?” “There’s something primal and exhilarating about a man who takes complete control in the bedroom. That’s what it’s about for me. I want to feel desire. Real desire. I need a man who will grab me and make me feel small and vulnerable and feminine. Without hurting me.” She releases my hands and sits upright, still mounted on top of me. “Outside of the bedroom, it’s all a level playing field. I’m an independent woman, and I control everything in my life. But in the bedroom . . . I want to be controlled by a strong man.” “And choked.” “I need an alpha male. I crave the dominance and show of strength he has over

me.” She reaches for my hands and intertwines our fingers. “You’re the first man I’ve trusted in years. I couldn’t have let anyone else put their hands on me that way. It had to be you.” She releases my hands and leans over me, propping on her lower arms, but her hands grasp my face. She presses a soft, closemouthed kiss on my lips. “Only you, Thorn.” She wants an alpha. A controller. A choker. God help me, I like what I just did to her. I want to do it again. And that’s totally fucked up. I spent my childhood being controlled, dominated, choked. What kind of person does it make me if I do those things to her? Even if it’s what she wants? “I can’t, Max.” She presses her forehead to mine. “You can. You did.” I did. And it was wrong. So. Fucking. Wrong. “But not again.” “I saw your face. You liked my submission. You liked putting your hand on me like that. You weren’t repulsed. And in those few moments when you held my life in your hands, I belonged to you. I knew it. You knew it. And you liked it.” Only a monster could love holding another person’s life in his hands. “You’re confusing me with your last lover.” I grasp her hips and move her off me. “Don’t go, Thorn.” “Where are my clothes?” She doesn’t answer, but I spot them on her dresser. I yank on my underwear. “You shouldn’t have dropped something like that on me without any warning.” “I bet you’ve never come so hard in your life.” Lucky guess. “Tell me if I’m wrong.” I can’t. To do so would be a lie. “You’re not wrong.” “See?” She leaves the bed and comes to me as I’m pulling on my jeans. “We’re good together. And that was only our first time.” She kisses my chest and sucks my nipple into her mouth, biting down on it. And my dick spasms. “Imagine what it would be like after we learn how to fulfill one another’s sexual fantasies. Pure ecstasy.” How can she feel it would work between us? So confident? Pure ecstasy? Fuck. Probably. But I’m scared as hell to know what her sexual fantasies are if she was brave enough to reveal her choking fetish the first time we’re together. I pull my T-shirt on. “I’m sorry but this isn’t going to work for me.” She steps away and wraps her arms around herself. Hiding her nudity from me. And I feel like a huge asshole. I pick up one of the towels from the floor and wrap it around her. “We’re neighbors. We’re going to see each other. A lot. Where do we go from here?” I don’t want this to be weird. But I don’t know how it won’t be. She looks so wounded. I didn’t want to hurt her. Physically or otherwise. I think again of her scars. He hurt her. That’s not me. I can’t hurt her on purpose.

She forms a faux smile accompanied by glassy eyes. “We wave when we pass on the street, and we say hello when we see one another outside, and we resume our lives as they were before this relationship began, and we pretend this night never happened.” She pauses and looks toward the window. She takes a deep breath and adds quietly, “Another secret we add to our collection.” Adelyn has come to hold a special place in my life. I don’t want any of those conditions. “No more hanging out? No more anything?” She looks at the floor as she shakes her head. “No. I can’t. Not now.” “Maybe we break for a day or so and see where things are when the dust settles.” I see a tear fall from her cheek to the floor. And she covers her face with the end of the towel. “No.” She shakes her head. “I’m so humiliated I can’t even look at you. Please go.” She shouldn’t feel humiliated. I was unprepared. I don’t know what I feel about this yet, but I don’t want to let her go. “Max . . .” “Just go, Thorn.”

NO DAMN WAY I CAN CONCENTRATE ON WORK TODAY. NOT AFTER LAST NIGHT’S DISASTROUS EVENTS WITH Adelyn. It bothers the fuck out of me. All of it. But most of all, I hate knowing that son of a bitch who nearly murdered her taught her that kinky shit. And she likes it. I can’t stop imagining some faceless asshole putting his hands around her throat. What is the fascination with it? Why does she like it so much? Why did I like doing it to her? I turn to the one source who won’t judge me for asking. The web. I open a private window on my browser and do a search: choking during sex. Choking has become the new third base. Inspired by violent pornography. Men want a princess in public and a whore in the bedroom. Women want a prince in public and a sexual predator in the bedroom. Some of the articles and posts I find are disturbing while others are . . . interesting.

Deep-rooted desires of domination are no longer taboo. Stop asking her what she wants. Tell her what to do. Order her around the bedroom like you own her. Issue commands. You are in charge. She exists for your sexual pleasure. She exists to please you. Choking is an indicator of your strength as a man. If you are an alpha male, a woman will crave your domination and show of strength. Who the fuck writes this shit? And who the fuck does this shit? Everything in my upbringing, from the time Mom and Dad got us, taught me this is not the way women should be handled. My parents invested a lot of time teaching me how to treat people respectfully, especially females. They taught me right from wrong and worked hard to undo all the wrong that had been done to me. Choking Adelyn feels like I’m doing harm to her. Hurting her. In my mind, nothing could be more wrong. Yet these articles claim otherwise. And Adelyn does too. “You look exhausted. I’m hoping that’s a sign your date with Adelyn went really great.” I jolt at the sound of Lawrence’s voice. Like a kid caught looking at porn. And that’s sort of what it feels like I’m researching. I minimize the screen displaying the article “How to Choke a Woman During Sex.” Shit. Lawrence would flip out if she read that heading. Or saw the photo of a sexy couple where the man’s hands are wrapped around a naked woman’s throat. “I didn’t get a lot of rest last night.” I couldn’t sleep. All I could think of was the disaster with Adelyn. It was so fucking good . . . until it wasn’t. Damn. Lawry was so happy when I told her Adelyn and I were going out on a date. She insisted on coming over to choose my outfit and prep me for the evening. She said Adelyn wasn’t like the others I had dated in the last few years so I might need a little coaching on the way to treat a woman like her. No way she could have prepared me for what happened. As much as I love my sister and desperately need to talk about what happened, I can’t betray Adelyn’s confidence. I can’t tell Lawry we ended the night on a bad note because she asked me to choke her during sex. Which I did. And I fucking liked it. I may very well be as messed up as Adelyn. “We hung out ’til pretty late. Had a bit to drink. You know how alcohol and lack of sleep can kick your ass.” I hate lying to my sister. “Sounds promising.” Might as well let her down easy and get it over with. “I don’t think so.” “Something go wrong?” Try everything. “Nothing in particular. I just think we’re probably better off being friends.” “Maybe you give it another shot. I definitely think Adelyn’s worth the effort.” Lawry isn’t giving up easily. “I think it’s best we’re friends for now.” “Romantic relationships can grow from friendships. I still have high hopes.”

The worst part of all this is that I don’t even think I’ll get to keep Adelyn as a friend. She couldn’t even look at me. I’m so humiliated. I fear our friendship is broken beyond repair. I knew going in this would end badly. Why didn’t I listen to my gut? At least then I’d still have her as a friend. I’d rather have that than what remains. “You need a pick-me-up so come on and grab a cup of coffee before we get started.” Monday morning production meeting. And the staff at BCC will be sitting in on this one to see how things are done. I love talking profit, but I’m not in the mood for this today. Per usual, Tap leads off with financial reports and projections. Lovibond is thriving. Growing. Earning more money than ever before. I should be smiling. But instead, I’m thinking about a redhead covering her face with a towel and telling me to go because she can’t look at me. “There’s a fuck-up that needs to be addressed.” “Brou.” If Lawry’s voice isn’t a warning, her eyes are, reminding her husband the staff from BCC is present. He nods his understanding and moves on to the problem. The batch of sour beer that made it out of the brewery. “It was a costly mistake. Not to mention putting us behind on production.” Bacteria. It’s a tricky little bastard in beer production. Not harmful to a consumer but it can turn beer sour. Porter thumbs through his log. “It was traced back to tank eighteen. Scott sterilized it a second time so the problem should be solved. But we won’t turn out the batch currently in it for another twelve days.” So we wait for the verdict. Not the first time we’d had to sit around and await fate. Looks like I’ll be waiting for two separate verdicts over the next couple weeks. Waiting on the beer verdict? Not a problem. But waiting to see what happens with Adelyn may stretch me more than I can handle.

Adelyn Maxwell

“THAT IS NOT A SMILE I SEE ON YOUR FACE.” It’s Monday morning. I’ve been fucked. Well fucked. But, sadly, I’m not smiling. Not even a little bit. Maurice takes a cup from the cardboard to-go carrier. My morning white chocolate mocha. He’s my hero. “Tell your Maury all about it, darling.” Maury is not the least bit uptight about anything. He flies a very flamboyant freak flag so I tell him things. Very personal things I can’t share with even my best friends, Jill and Kristin. And he never judges. “You were taking Delicious Honey home with you the last time we spoke.” “Shit.” My mocha burns my tongue. It’s hotter than normal; I’m here before my usual time. I left home earlier this morning to avoid running into Oliver. “He went home with me. And the night was going really well. We skinny-dipped. Made out in the pool. And then took it upstairs.” Maury swishes his hand through the air. “Wait. Before this story goes any further, I need to know something. Is Delicious Honey hung?” “Maury.” I should have known it was only a matter of time before he asked. He has no shame. He lifts his brows. “Girl, you don’t have to tell me. I know he is. I could see the outline of it last night.” Oliver’s cock is perfect. But I’m not going there with Maury. “I can’t believe you were checking out my date’s peen.” “Not my fault. He’s the one who popped a chub. Speaking of which. Are you sure that didn’t happen when he got felt up?” “I’m quite certain.” Oliver was pissed off. I could see his anger beneath the surface, which was totally fair. He didn’t say a lot about it but he would have had every right. He didn’t. Because of me. And, damn, that makes me like him even more. “All right. Continue on with the story.” “So we were having sex.” Doesn’t every great story start out that way? Maury interrupts me again. “Good sex or bad sex?”

I huff and roll my eyes. “Stop interrupting.” “I need to know these things.” “It was great sex. I’d already gotten off once and was working on orgasm number two. And it was well on its way. But then I looked up at Oliver. And he looked all sexy-as-fuck moving over me, pumping away. And I thought to myself ‘You like this guy. You like this guy a lot. You want to be HIS. Make it happen.’” “Adelyn Maxwell.” Maury is giving me a devilish grin. “Did you do what I think you did?” “Oh yeah. And it didn’t fly with him. At. All.” “Ohhh. That’s not great.” “It was awful, Maury.” I want to cry thinking about it now. “He made me feel like a freak.” “No one makes my girl feel like that. I’m the only freak around here.” Maury has the hand and neck thing going. He’s pissed. “He looked at me like I had three heads.” That look on Oliver’s face. Disgust. It’s the reason I keep my preferences to myself. I fear seeing that same expression on Jill’s and Kristin’s faces if I ever told them what I like in the bedroom. Especially Jill. She walks a tight and narrow rope. Maury is the only person who knows me. I mean really knows me. And he doesn’t judge. I can tell him anything. “Want me to kick his gorgeous ass?” A one-legged man could beat Maury in an ass-kicking contest. “Nah, I wouldn’t want you to hurt him.” “I should probably stick to being a lover rather than a fighter. Might mess up my manicure.” Agreed. “Oliver wasn’t cruel. He showed genuine concern for my safety.” So fuck me. I like him even more because of it. “He was interested in knowing why I’d want him to do that. I tried to explain but it was a fail.” I’ve never been asked to explain why I like what I like. No man had ever dominated me sexually until Martin. Sure, I’d had sex with a few boyfriends in college but it was always normal. Missionary. Average. Mediocre at best. But then Martin happened. I loved, loved, loved his domination in the bedroom from the very first time he put his hand around my neck. I craved it. Needed it. Most women would freak out over the things he did to me, but that control made him so fucking sexy in my eyes. And it made me feel safe. Treasured. Loved. Until it didn’t. Control became obsession. Dominance became abuse. I thought that desire had left me, which would be understandable. However, when I looked into Oliver’s eyes, I saw it. Strength. Passion. I felt safe. Treasured. And was willing to submit. Again.

“This is new to Oliver Thorn. He could come around after he’s had time to think it over. Absorb it.” “I don’t think so. You didn’t see the look on his face.” “Well, fuck him then.” “The thing is, I’m going to see him. We’re neighbors. I can’t not run into him. It’s inevitable even if I try to steer clear. Plus, Lawrence has hired me to plan his surprise birthday party.” “When is that again?” “Three weeks away.” “Let Michelle take over the project. It’s just a birthday party. She can handle it.” “I don’t want Lawrence to feel like I flaked on her.” This is a professional agency. I don’t get to behave like an amateur because things have become awkward between Oliver and me. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.” “That’s right. And boss lady says let’s get to work.” Maybe planning fun events for others will take my mind off my own misery. Wrong. I’m worthless. So distracted by last night replaying in my head I can’t even choose the tableware for a simple luncheon. Maury taps on my office door. “Lawrence Broussard is here.” Shit. Did Oliver tell her what happened last night? Are they close enough he would confide in her? Would he betray me so easily? “Did she say why she’s here?” “You have a scheduled meeting. You smokin’ crack, girl?” “Oh, right.” I can’t believe I forgot. We’re working on Oliver’s party today. Bad timing. “Send her back.” I get up and smooth my pencil skirt and blouse, nervous to see Lawrence. It’s Monday. Not even twelve hours since the incident. There’s a chance she hasn’t even spoken to Oliver about last night. But my gut tells me otherwise. I greet her at the door, and she initiates a hug. Not the sign of a sister who’s upset with me over a kinky sex encounter with her brother. “How are you?” “Good. Good.” Total lie. Nothing about me is good. “Come around and grab a seat. Let’s talk about this birthday party we have coming up.” I open the file I started for Oliver’s party. “I’ve been in touch with Iron City. It’s available so we’re good for the venue.” “That’s fantastic. I just know it’ll be perfect.” “I agree. Very industrial chic.” I actually did some brainstorming last week for Oliver’s party. Good thing since my brain is shit today. “I’m thinking Stout themed since that’s what his friends call him. We incorporate stout in everything. Believe it or not, I found an adult birthday cake recipe that uses a stout beer in the cake batter. And it’s topped with a whiskey coffee glaze. How fantastic does that sound?” “Yes. Ollie will absolutely love that.”

“I believe so too. Do you think we can get friends and family to contribute photos? I’d love to do a balloon chandelier.” “What is that?” “Photos are stringed to the end of helium balloons. It’s like floating memories over the guests’ heads. A fun way to reminisce.” “That sounds incredibly cool. I definitely want to do that.” “Dirty thirty photo booth? Or is that asking for trouble since there will be booze?” Photo booths tend to go over really well for birthday parties, but they often get out of hand after the alcohol kicks in. Boobs and boners come out for photobombing. “I like that idea a lot. Sounds fun.” “What about guests? How many are you thinking of inviting?” Lawrence hesitates. “Can we put the party planning on pause for a minute?” “Sure.” And here we go. “What happened?” She doesn’t need to elaborate. I know exactly what she’s asking. But how the hell do I answer that question—so I don’t give away too much —when I have no idea what Oliver told her? She continues when I don’t reply. “I saw you and Oliver together on Saturday night at the grand opening. He was very into you. And you were into him as well. I saw it. Did something go down?” Oh, no. Something went up. It was shit, and it hit the fan hard. “Things didn’t go as expected.” “You’re being as vague as him.” Oliver didn’t betray me. “Don’t you like my brother?” “I like Oliver very much. But . . .” There aren’t words to explain what happened without giving away too much. Lawrence finishes my sentence. “Things didn’t go as expected.” “I’m more comfortable with leaving it at that.” And apparently Oliver is too since he didn’t tell her what happened. “Got it. I’ll stop being the meddling sister.” “Thank you for not pushing.” I look at my notes. “Number of guests?” “Let’s go with two hundred for now. I’ll let you know if that changes.” I’m certain I appear robotic as I go down the list of questions I’ve asked clients hundreds of times. My head isn’t in this meeting. It’s stuck replaying the scene with Oliver last night. I’m coming again. So fucking hard. That’s the place where I stop the scene in my head and hit rewind. Because everything happening after that point was unpleasant. Unfortunate. Unbearable. And I’m afraid that’s how it’s going to continue.

WHERE DID THAT STICK COME FROM? I SQUEAL AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS WHEN THAT-AIN’T-NOfucking-stick skids in a wavy motion across the top of the water in my pool. “Holy-bat-shit-man.” I go to high-stepping out of the pool, pretty sure I nearly accomplish the impossibility of walking on water. Jesus would be impressed. I stand on the decking and look over into the shallow end at my swim mate. I hate snakes. Despise them. “Oh, no, you don’t. This is my much-needed relaxation after a horrible week, you little son of a bitch. I want to enjoy my pool, and you’re not going to stop me.” He doesn’t listen. Rude bastard. This is man shit. Yes, getting snakes out of the pool is man shit. Tommy always did this kind of thing for me. I miss him so much. When will that ache go away? Maybe I can call Maurice. Nah. He’d jump into my arms and tell me to protect him. No choice. Gotta man up and get the reptile out myself. I grab the skimmer and extend the telescopic pole so I have enough distance to haul ass when I skim him up and dump him in the grass. I shudder because what I’m about to do is giving me the heebie-jeebies. Again, I hate snakes. I lower the mesh paddle into the water and scoop it under his body. But he swims off the paddle. Dammit. I make the same attempt a second, third, and fourth time. “Come on, snake. This is your eviction notice. It’s time for you to go.” I make a fifth attempt under its slithery body. Finally. Success. I lift the skimmer from the water and quickly move with it toward the grass. And the wiggling bastard falls off, hits the decking, and slithers back into the water. “Nooo,” I yell until a fresh coat of rawness covers my throat. “Get out. I don’t want you here.” I jolt when Oliver bursts into my backyard through the gate. Carrying a big wrench. “What is it? What’s happening?” My face pulsates with heat. “There’s a snake in my pool.” “You should have called me.” No way. I’d swim with the snake before I did that. “Where is it?” It’s been two weeks since our sexual-encounter-gone-wrong. I was starting to get over what happened. But now he’s standing there all-sexy-as-fuck wearing a smile that makes my wet bikini bottom sizzle. That night, and the embarrassment it caused, comes rushing back.

I wish he’d stayed at his place. I prefer the company of the snake. “I don’t see it now. I guess it swam into the skimmer basket.” He goes over and lifts the cover. “Little garter snake. Probably more afraid of you than you are of it.” “I highly doubt that.” He reaches in, grabs it by the head, and pulls it out of the basket. “Harmless.” My shoulders have a mind of their own and break into a jerk. “Oh, Thorn. Get rid of that thing.” I can’t stand to look at it wiggling in his hand. “What would you have me do with it?” “I don’t care. Just make sure he’s departing from my property as he slithers.” I squeal and bolt when Oliver walks toward me. “I’m not going to throw it on you.” “My brother totally would have. And often did. I think that’s why I’m the way I am about snakes, and lizards, and stuff like that. It gave him a huge thrill to terrorize me.” He goes to the fence and lowers the snake into the grass on his property. “All gone.” “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” “Any time. Just give me a holler. Or a panicky scream and obviously I’ll come-arunnin’.” Oliver hesitates a moment. For a split second, I think he’s going to bring up the incident. Maybe tell me I’m not as vile as he thought. “Enjoy your swim.” Or maybe he’s only going to tell me to enjoy my swim. God, I miss his smile. His laughter. The way I felt when we were together. I. Miss. Him. Does he miss me? I’m so tempted to ask him to stay. But I don’t want to hear him tell me no. And I don’t want to see the look in his eyes that confirms how repulsive he finds me. “Yeah. See ya.” As much as I love the contours of his sexy-as-hell back, I hate watching him go. Again. I need a distraction. Girl time. Talking with chicks about dicks. The anatomical kind and guys who are jackasses. I call Kristin but it goes to voicemail. “Hey, whore. I’m off today and tomorrow. I think it’s time we have another slumber party. Maybe order way too much takeout from Lazzario’s and absolutely drink too much wine. I’m inviting Jill too so give me a hollah and let me know if you can make it.” A night with my gal pals. That’s what I need to take my mind off Oliver Thorn.

JILL OPENS THE OVEN DOOR AND TAKES OUT THE HOMEMADE BREAD STICKS I MADE TO GO WITH OUR PASTA takeout. I couldn’t help myself. The baking bug bit. “Lazarrio would beg you to come to work for him if he knew you baked bread sticks like these.” “Baking wouldn’t be a bit of fun if I did it for a living.” They have no idea the only reason I do it is to keep my sanity. Jill and Kris would flip out if they knew the whole story about Martin and me. The dominance-turned-abuse. The attempt to kill me. They believe it was a mutual decision to part ways and then I was attacked by some random person who broke into the office to rob the cash drawer . . . we don’t have. Jill turns the baking sheet sideways and slides the bread sticks onto a serving platter. “Speaking of a living. How did you manage to score today and tomorrow off from work? I hear your boss is a real hard ass.” “Last minute wedding cancellation. It was so sad. My bride for this weekend came into the office earlier this week. Poor thing was in tears, completely wrecked, after her fiancé called off the wedding; said he couldn’t go through with it.” “You’re the boss of Bash Agency. You shouldn’t spend every weekend working.” “I totally agree with Kris. Being the owner of a business should have perks.” “I hear what you’re saying, and I don’t disagree.” “Sweetie.” Jill’s voice takes on her counselor tone. “Agreeing and putting it into action are two totally different things.” I’m not one of her patients. “I know.” I’ve allowed the agency to take over my life. It’s become my everything. Family. Friends. Love interest. But it’s a one-sided relationship. It doesn’t return my affection. It brings a certain type of satisfaction, but I’ve noticed lately it’s not enough. “How long has it been since the three of us got together?” I’m surprised Kristin asks instead of taking out her phone to check her calendar. She’s so left-brained. “Sometime late spring.” The last time I had a cancellation. Sheez. My job dictates how often my friends and I see one another. “I’m sorry. We’re best friends. We shouldn’t be seeing each other quarterly because I get an opening in my work schedule. I promise I’m going to do better.” Jill points at me with a bread stick. “I’m holding you to that.” “Me too.” “Got it, ladies.” Kristin takes a portion of chicken tetrazzini and passes the container to me. “We

haven’t caught up in a while. Anything new going on in your life?” “I’ve decided I want to date again.” Seems the best way to introduce the Oliver topic. “About damn time.” That’s the exact reaction I expected from Kristin since she’s the one who has hounded me the hardest. Jill’s reaction is different. Softer. She almost looks as though she’s going to cry. “Aww, that’s great, Addie. Tommy would be really happy about that. A bad breakup shouldn’t dictate the rest of your life.” If only they knew just how bad they would really understand why. Tommy’s death shouldn’t dictate the rest of Jill’s life either. It’s been two years since my brother died, and Jill hasn’t even considered dating. She still wears the engagement ring he gave her three months before he was killed. Kristin looks at me with her stare that screams make her stop. But I don’t know how. How does one tell a certified counselor she isn’t grieving appropriately? And what is the appropriate way to grieve anyway? It’s likely I’d feel the same, even after two years, if I were in love with a man who was stolen from me because of someone’s selfish stupidity. Kristin looks away from Jill and shakes her head. “Do you have someone special in mind, Addie?” There’s no going back with these two once I tell them but I’m going for it. “I’ve sort of, but not really, been seeing someone.” Kristin slams her palm on the dining room table. “Shut the front door and tell us. Every. Thing.” I down the last of my Pinot Grigio. One bottle down. Oops. “Well, we put that one away in record time.” “Grab another one.” Kristin gets up and moves toward the wine chiller. “Better yet let me grab it, and you start talking.” “I have a new neighbor. And he’s . . . all that plus some. We’ve been hanging out.” Jill pats her hands together like a clapping toddler. “Oh. You obviously like this guy if he makes you consider dating again.” “I do. A lot. But we had sort of a weird argument.” I consider that word. Argument doesn’t feel right. “Well, maybe it was more like a misunderstanding.” I’m not sure that’s the right word choice either since Oliver understood exactly what I wanted. Just not the why. “What kind of misunderstanding are we talking about?” Jill asks. These are my two dearest friends, besides Maury, and neither have a clue about the things I like when I’m with a man behind closed doors. This could get a little tricky. But should it? We have been through a lot together. Am I ashamed? These girls are my best friends and I have trusted them with so many other aspects of my life . . . except Martin. They don’t know what happened to me. Is that why I haven’t

shared about my need to be dominated? Perhaps now isn’t the time either. “We had sex.” Kristin fans herself with her napkin as she pretends to pass out in her chair. “Lawwwd, have mercy. When?” “A couple weeks ago.” She promptly sits eight inches taller. “And we’re just now hearing about it?” I don’t mistake the sharp clip in her voice. “You should have called an emergency get-together. This calls for a celebration.” Jill is jumping to happy conclusions. It’s her way. “Don’t pull out the balloons and penis party favors just yet.” Kristin’s nose wrinkles. “It was bad sex?” “No. It was fantastic. Literally, the best ever. But there were problems afterwards.” Jill’s face drops. “What kind of problems?” “I like it a little rough. Or moderately rough.” I have to keep this vague. “Who doesn’t? I love having my ass smacked and my hair pulled.” I’m not at all surprised to hear that from Kristin. She fits the part. But both of those things are in a different league from what I asked Oliver to do. “It had been so long. I guess I was a little overzealous.” If I had to speculate, Kris might understand my need for dominance in the bedroom. But not Jill; she’s too strait-laced. And I’ve never felt like I could confide in Kris without her blabbing to Jill. Not in gossip, but because we look out for each other. “It has been a super long time. I think that’s understandable.” Not according to Oliver Thorn. “Oliver had a violent childhood. He was abused by his birth parents so he had a hard time with the idea of being assertive with me. It didn’t go well.” “Aww, that’s too bad.” Jill grabs the bottle of wine and refills everyone’s glass. “Maybe you could try getting some drinks down him so he’ll loosen up.” Wow. That’s a little out of character for Jill to suggest something like that. “We had drinks. Quite a few beers. He was still very resolute about the whole thing. I don’t think alcohol could have swayed his stance about it.” “Bor-ing.” Kristin takes a drink of wine. “Your first sexual encounter in years is with a stick-in-the-mud. That’s tragic.” I feel the need to defend Oliver. “It wasn’t like that. It was really good.” “Yeah . . . until it wasn’t.” Kristin is sort of pissing me off. “Are you ready to give up on this guy?” Per usual, Jill is the one who’s going to try to solve the problem. I shake my head. “No.” I want him. Bad. “Then go back to square one. Warm him up to the idea of rough play. Start slow. Use baby steps.” Would Oliver take that chance though? Jill’s probably right. I guess I can see where asking him to choke me the first time we’re together might

have been a little much for someone who has never done anything like that. “You’re right. Oliver needs to be eased into it.” And that’s what I think about as we finish the next two bottles of wine. All the ways I can condition Oliver into being the bedroom alpha I need and want. If he still wants me. He’s probably moved on. Kristin stretches out on the sofa and kicks me in the thigh with her foot. “You should go over there. To your neighbor’s house. Now.” “You’re drunk talking.” She giggles. “I may be a little drunk but I know what I’m talking about.” I’m drunk too, but not so much I can’t rationalize. “Let’s say I go over there. Then what? Throw myself at him and say spank me, please?” “No. You pique his interest. Dangle the carrot.” I look over at the clock. “It’s almost midnight.” “So?” “He’ll think I’m nuts.” “Not nuts. Horny? Probably. Which might not be a bad thing.” “Don’t you think it’ll be painfully obvious what I’m doing?” “Do you really care if it gets him back in bed with you?” Seeing him again scares the shit out of me. “We’re having girl time. I can’t believe y’all are trying to talk me into going next door for dick.” “You won’t be going over there to get dick tonight. You’ll be laying the foundation for getting dick later.” I can tell this conversation is about to get real. “I assume my vagina is the carrot so how do I dangle it?” “Oh, God. You two are killing me.” I’m happy to see Jill laughing. She does too little of that. “The first thing you’re going to do is change out of those leggings and tunic into something sexy.” I’m going to change into something sexy before I go over to his house at midnight. “Don’t you think that’ll be obvious?” “Who gives a fuck if it gets you back in bed with him? That’s what you want, right?” She has a point. “Well, yeah.” I want Oliver but I’m not going over there looking stupid, even if I have had a whole bottle of wine. And a half. I’m not that drunk. Yet. “He left his motorcycle wrench by the pool today.” “He needs his wrench. Maybe even tomorrow. Perfect excuse to go over there.” It wouldn’t be the dumbest excuse for dropping by. “Maybe.” “Maybe, my ass. It’s a fantastic reason for going over there.” I don’t know. Despite the alcohol, I can still see that expression on his face from two weeks ago. The one that told me he was disgusted by my kink. And it shakes any liquid courage the wine may have given me. “Maybe it’s not the best idea to go over there after I’ve been drinking.” Jill holds up her glass of wine. “No. The best idea would be for you to have

another two glasses and then go.” Kristin opens our last bottle of Pinot Grigio and tops off my glass. “Bottoms up, bitch.” The fence between where I am now and hammered is a thin one. And this glass is going to shove me over the edge. “Get your ass up. You’re changing out of those fat clothes and putting on something sexy.” I follow them to my bedroom. I sit on the bed as they go through my wardrobe. Within minutes, it looks like my closet puked all over my room and I’m wearing a spaghetti strap sundress. No bra. “Inconspicuous but easy access to the carrot, just in case.” The just in case sends chills over my body. “Not so sure about the inconspicuous theory.” Jill pushes another glass of wine my way. “Finish this off so you don’t chicken out.” “Another glass or not, I’m considering backing out.” “No, you’re not. This is the first promising relationship since your breakup with Martin. You’re doing this.” “My breakup. Right.” I hate that I’ve lied to them. It has felt as though I’m protecting Martin. Nothing could be further from the truth. At the time, Jill and Tommy were together, and if I shared the truth, she would have told him everything. And then what? My brother was so protective of me. He probably would have killed Martin then and there. I was so ashamed. Mortified it had happened to me in the first place. How could I have been so stupid to remain in a relationship so dark and dangerous? Jill taps the bottom of my wine glass. “Drink.” When I see the bottom of the glass, there’s no denying it. I’ve crossed the fence. Fallen over it, actually. I’m tanked. “Okay. Let’s do this.” My girls walk me to the patio door and Jill holds out the wrench. “You’re hot. Sexy. Confident. He wants you.” Kristin pushes up on my boobs from the bottom. “Rub your nipples so he can see them through your dress.” “Are you kidding me?” “Come on, Addie. Do it. Guys love it when they’re hard.” I recall the special attention Oliver gave to my breasts so I reach into my dress and pinch my nipples, pulling on them so they elongate. “Better?” “Oh, yeah. He’ll like that.” “Okay. I’ve got this. I’ve got this. Tell me again I’ve got this.” “You’ve got this, Addie.” Jill and Kris are standing at the door when I look back. “Go, ho.” Fuck. I’m not getting out of this. My mind and head spin as I cross from my property to Oliver’s. None of the lights are on but I think I see the flash of the television in the living room window.

Even intoxicated, I know I’m a dumbass for doing this. It’s juvenile. I’m acting like a twenty-seven-year-old teenager. I ring the bell and come up with at least one dozen reasons I should haul ass before he comes to the door and sees me sloshed, in this dress, with erect nipples, on his doorstep. I consider it hard but I’m afraid I’ll face-plant in the front yard. And that would suck so much worse. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. No Oliver. Maybe he isn’t home. After all, it is Saturday night. He’s probably out on a date or some shit like that. I turn to leave and Oliver opens his front door. He looks at me, puzzled, through squinted eyes. “Max?” His voice is raw and scratchy. Shit. I woke him. “Umm . . .” “What are you doing?” “Umm . . .” His hair is unruly, reminding me of a faux hawk gone wrong. He’s shirtless. I can’t take my greedy eyes from his muscular, tattooed chest. I want to lick it. Bite his nipples again. And that damn V at his waist disappearing into those thin athletic shorts. I want to lick it too. Fuck. He looks amazing. I want him. I step closer and grasp the back of his neck with my free hand. I press my mouth to his with the intention of possessing it. And he lets me. His tongue is soft. Wet. Alluring. Everything I remember. I came to entice him. Dangle the carrot and walk away. But it’s he who holds the power to seduce me. Oliver cups his hand around the side of my face. “Max.” He says my name and I panic as memories of the this-isn’t-going-to-work-forme incident flashes in my head. I’m terrified to hear what comes after my name so I step away and hold out his tool. “You left your wrench at my house. I thought I’d bring it to you. That’s why I’m here . . . this time of night. . . because I have nothing better to do.” He chuckles and I want to die because that is likely the lamest damn thing I’ve ever said to someone. “Thanks. I’m sure I would have been looking for this tomorrow.” “You’re welcome.” I want to run. Get away now. I’m halfway down the sidewalk when he calls out to me. “Max.” I stop, before I consider doing otherwise, and turn at the sound of my name. “Hmm?” “You look beautiful . . . this time of night when you have nothing better to do.” Fuck. Me. My carrot may be working on this jackrabbit after all.

Oliver Thorn

I DIDN’T EAT BREAKFAST WHEN I GOT UP. I KEPT EXPECTING (HOPING) I’D GET A SUNDAY BRUNCH invitation from Adelyn after her late-night visit. Last night’s kiss. It has to mean all isn’t forsaken between us. Surely, it means she’s coming around. Maybe. Hopefully. Yet, I sit here without a word from her today. Not a call. Not a text. Nada. But that kiss. Fuck. So hot. There are two cars parked in her drive this morning. At least two people. One of them could have been a man in her bed last night. Maybe a man who would happily give her all the things she desires. Wish I could be that man. I picture some asshole putting his hands on her. Holding her down. Pulling her hair. Grasping her throat. Fucking her pussy. Maybe even her ass. Plus all the other kinky shit I discovered during my research. Does she want to be treated like a princess in public and a whore in the bedroom? My blood fucking boils as I consider the possibility of some other man doing those things to her. I’ve looked out my kitchen window at least a dozen times this morning trying to see what’s going on at Adelyn’s house. Trying to at least catch a glimpse of who’s there. Not knowing is killing me. But caring is killing me more. I hear what I believe is a splash and girly squeal. But not a panicked version like the one from the snake yesterday. More of a fun-like yelp. I take the stairs two at a time and peek through my guest bedroom window since it provides a view into Adelyn’s backyard and pool. I stand there, waiting, to catch a glimpse of Adelyn’s guests. I’m fucking pathetic for this. I’m pleased when I see one bikini. Then two. And finally a third. She had girlfriends over last night. She wasn’t in a chokehold getting fucked by some alpha asshole. I’m slightly disgusted by my relief and sudden lift in mood. Given Adelyn is tied up for the time being, I might as well do something instead of sitting around by myself thinking about how badly I wish I could see her.

I call Porter first. “Hey, dipshit. Want to come over and watch the game later?” “I’ve got nothing better to do, so sure.” It’s Sunday and he’s not MIA for the first time in weeks. Not sure what that means. “Game starts at six. Lawry said she was working on some kind of furniture refinishing project with a friend today so I’m gonna see if Tap wants to come too. I’ll ask him to try sweet-talking my sister into sending food.” Hopefully, guacamole. “Please, ’cause you can’t cook for shit.” “Like you can.” “I’m not as bad as you.” “No longer the case. I’ve been gettin’ lessons.” “Who the fuck from? Ronald McDonald?” “Adelyn’s taught me some stuff. I know how to make homemade pizza.” Well, maybe I could if I had the recipe for her crust. Which I don’t. “I’ll believe that shit after I see it.” “Okay. You’re on. Homemade pizza tonight. Got a Benjamin that says you’ll eat the hell out of it.” “You’re on, fucker. I’ll bring chips and dip so we’ll have something to eat after you fail.” “On.” I know I don’t have bread flour. Or yeast. Or that special salt she used. I’m definitely making a grocery store run but I don’t want to forget anything. Can you give me a list of the ingredients for the pizza crust? Shit. The sauces. I forgot about that. And the sauces. I should ask for the instructions while I’m at it. Hell, I need the entire recipe with all the steps. For everything. That’s going to be a lot of typing. She’s swimming. She probably doesn’t want to stop to fuck with me about a recipe. I know you’re busy w/ your friends. Maybe send me a pic of the recipe? Dammit. She’s going to wonder how I know she’s busy with her friends. No biggie. Just hanging by the pool. The list is pretty long so I’ll be over in a min.

Fuck. She’s coming over. I get to see her. I don’t hate that. Great. Thanks. As promised, Adelyn is knocking on my kitchen’s French door in no time. “It’s open.” Oh, hell. She’s wearing a thin white cover-up over my favorite black bikini. It’s wet so there are two damp circles over her chest, leaving very little to my imagination about what’s underneath. But of course, I’ve been lucky to see everything underneath. Touch it. Squeeze it. Suck it into my mouth. I don’t have to use my imagination. “Hey. What’s up?” Her voice is soft. Her cheeks red. Her expression sheepish. I think she’s embarrassed about last night. But she shouldn’t be. I’m happy she came over. I’m happy she tasted like wine; I think it’s what made her brave enough to kiss me. “Having Porter and Tap over tonight to watch the game. Thought I might show off my new ability to make homemade pizza. Except I don’t know how without a recipe.” “Oh, fun. Got a notepad and pen I can use?” I pull out the kitchen drawer where I keep stuff like that. My junk drawer. “Yup.” She spreads her right arm on the counter and bends over so her left hand is wrapped around the notepad, writing on it from the top. “You’re left-handed.” “Mmm . . . hmm.” All the time we’ve spent together and I’m just now catching that. She’s bent over my kitchen counter writing the recipe. Is she doing that to me on purpose? If she is or not, I don’t deny myself the view of looking at her perfectly outlined ass peeking through her wet cover-up. All I’d have to do is ease down her bikini bottom and I could be buried deep inside her in probably five seconds. Six, tops. “Get Bob’s Red Mill unbleached enriched artisan bread flour. Comes in a purple bag. Costs a little more but it makes the best crust.” She turns to look at me and catches me staring at her ass. “What brand did I say?” She knows I was ogling. Not listening. “Purple Mill.” “Bob’s Red Mill unbleached enriched artisan bread flour. Purple bag.” She lifts a brow. “Got it?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Good.” She goes back to writing the recipe on the notepad and my eyes return to roaming her body. They leave her ass and hesitate at her neck. So many thoughts gather in my head. Could I hold her down by the throat? Own her?

Control her? Two weeks ago, I thought no. Not just no. Fuck, no. I wanted no part of that shit. But today I feel differently. I’ve had a little time to absorb the shock of it. I still don’t think I can choke her. It’s too violent. Brings back too many shitty memories. But could we try a subtler version of what she wants? Needs? Could she bend a little, if I did as well? And, together, we try to find a way for me to satisfy her needs while not exceeding my boundaries? “It’s your first solo go at a pizza crust so call me if you have problems or questions. I don’t mind coming over if you need help.” Fuck. I wish I could get her back over here after her company, and mine, leaves. “Don’t be surprised if you hear from me.” “That’ll be okay.” My eyes follow her neck to the curve of her shoulder. “You’re red.” “Shocker.” She lifts her shoulder and pushes away the top of her cover-up and strap of her bikini to survey her skin. I’d love to keep pulling it down. “Hell, yeah, look at that. We’ve only been out for an hour, and I’m already burning. With sunscreen.” “It doesn’t look too bad right now but be careful.” I was severely burned as a child. I still remember how painful it was. And how much Jimmy laughed about it. Told Lawry and me we were little idiots for playing outside in the sun all day. We were kids. They were the idiots who never taught us what happened when you stayed in the sun too long. Lesson well learned. “I’m probably in the shade the rest of the day. I don’t want to risk a burn. ’Cause with me, it’s one of those things you don’t detect coming on. You figure it out after it’s too late.” I like the idea of her staying in the shade. A sunburn would definitely prevent any kind of get-together between the two of us later. I take the notepad from the counter. “I guess I’m off to shop. I’m used to doing a bachelor sweep through the grocery store so it should be fun hunting down these ingredients.” “It won’t be bad. The bread flour, yeast, salt, oil, and sugar are on the same aisle.” “That helps.” “I’d go with you if I didn’t have friends over. We haven’t hung out in a while so it would be really shitty of me to drop them.” “It’s okay. It’s really nice of you to leave them to come over and help me.” “They don’t mind. They encouraged me to come when you texted.” Shit. She didn’t . . . want to come over? Was last night their idea too? Have I misread this? “Nice of them to share you with a bachelor in need.” “They knew I wanted to come.” She crosses her arms, shielding my view of her bikini, and tits, through her wet top. Dammit. “About last night.” She’s going to bring up the kiss? I hope so. I want to talk

about it. “Umm . . . sorry I woke you. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.” Not where I was hoping she was going with this. “Don’t be. It was great of you to bring the wrench over. I would have been searching high and low for it the next time I work on the bike.” Come on, Adelyn. Bring up the kiss. It’s the perfect introduction for the conversation I want to have about how we might explore this relationship. “So, I guess I should get back to Jill and Kristin.” No. Stay. “Right.” I hold up the recipe. “Thanks again.” “No problem.” Adelyn grasps the doorknob and hesitates. “What is it?” “Last night.” She lowers her face so she isn’t looking at me. Embarrassed, maybe? Afraid? The thing I know for sure is her confidence is shaken. I’m the one who did that so it’s my job to fix it. I don’t give her time to overthink it or second-guess her decision. “The kiss. I liked it.” She doesn’t look back, but I see her biting her lip as a smile tries to break through. “Good. I liked it, too.” That’s all she says before opening the door and leaving. Two weeks ago she trusted me enough to show me who she was. Show me her dark side. And I rejected it. Rejected her. I hurt this woman who’s already been so incredibly wounded. She didn’t deserve that shit from me. So now I have to start over with her. Backtrack. Gain her trust all over again so we can pursue the possibilities of us. I have work to do.

BRAVES WON. PIZZA WAS A SUCCESS. TOOK PORTER’S MONEY. THE NIGHT’S BEEN A WIN. But it’s not over yet. Pizza turned out great. I considered faking a disaster so I could call Adelyn over but decided it would be a waste since Porter and Tap were here. I was wondering. Knew you could do it. Glad it went well.

I want to see her. Thanks. You’re a good instructor. Your friends still there? Please say no. They went home after dinner. Yes. Feel like coming over? Delayed response. Damn. Hope that isn’t a sign she’s coming up with an excuse. Sure. Be over in a few. It isn’t a few. It’s more like thirty. I’m pretty sure Adelyn showered. Her hair is fluffy and she looks fresh, not at all like someone who spent the day sweating by the pool. But I’m not complaining. She smells so fucking good. The fragrance is a cross between fruity and floral but not overpowering. “Have a good time with your friends?” “We had a blast. It’s been way too long since we did something like that.” “No Maurice?” “Dear Lord, no. He’s in a different circle than Jill and Kris. And the two circles don’t overlap; he and his bold personality are not their cup of tea.” Understandable. He’s not really mine either. “Do Jill and Kristin know about Martin?” “They know him but neither have a clue he abused me.” She tilts her head and begins twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “You don’t tell people that kind of stuff. Not even the best of friends.” You absolutely keep your mouth shut. Strange how it goes with the territory no matter who’s experiencing it. “Guess it makes no difference if you’re a six-yearold little boy or a grown woman.” “People don’t understand the shame that goes along with abuse unless they’ve experienced it.” “I agree with that statement one hundred percent.” “Enough about that.” I’m glad she’s changing the subject. I hate talking about the first six years of my childhood. And I don’t love hearing about the abuse she went through either. “Jill and Kristin are single?” “Yeah. Kris is a serial dater. Goes out with a different guy every weekend. But Jill

. . . she’s been out of the dating scene since Tommy died. She was engaged to him.” Oh, right. “She’s been stuck in a funk since and either can’t, or won’t, move on. I can’t decide which.” “Fuck. That’s awful. Was she your friend before she became your brother’s fiancée?” “Yeah. I lived with her and her family my senior year.” I remember Adelyn telling me a friend’s family took her in when her parents left Birmingham. “You don’t talk about your parents much. Do you ever see them?” They’ve not been to visit since I moved in next door. “Not as much since they moved to Virginia. But they’re coming into town Tuesday. Five days of hellfire and brimstone from Daddy while Mama worries the shit out of me about getting married and having babies. In that order. I’m getting to be an old maid, you know. Should be fun.” Sounds like Daddy is a real Bible-thumper. I bet he ain’t all about a queen in full drag singing Whitney Houston. “What do your parents think of Maurice?” “That he’s one of God’s children so we love him. And we should pray often he stops his sinful ways and gets right with the Lord.” Sinful ways. No way I’m gonna make the cut with Daddy. “Is that what they’ll say about me when they find out I’m a beer brewer?” Assuming I’ll get to meet them. “Oh, God. It’ll be the same song, second verse. We should lie. Tell them you’re a school teacher . . . who also teaches a Bible study group at the Baptist church down the street.” “Makes me sound respectable.” “You have no idea how much my mom would love that. She’d probably propose to you on my behalf.” “So how ’bout we don’t tell them I’m a teacher who teaches a Bible study group?” It would be a fail if Brother Maxwell tried to talk Bible trivia with me. “And tell them what instead?” Things feel right again between Adelyn and me. I don’t want to wait about seeing where this could go. “We tell them I’m a beer brewer.” I point to the ink on my arm. “With lots of tattoos, which I’m sure will go over well. And I’m seeing their daughter.” Let’s see what she thinks about that. “Only two of those three statements are true.” No need to pussyfoot around this. I want her and she needs to know that. “What if I want them all to be true?” Her eyes widen and she looks like she wants to say something. But nothing comes out. “Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.” “I don’t know what to say.” There’s a tug of war happening right now beneath those hazel eyes. “Say you want an us, Max. Say you’ll forgive me for being an enormous jackass. Say you’re willing to bend a little. Let me try a subtler version of what you want.

Without the choking. At least for now until I gain my footing. And, together, we find a way to satisfy your needs while not going beyond my limits.” “A compromise.” “Exactly. A little give and take. Isn’t that what relationships are all about?” “Are you saying you’re interested in a relationship with me, Oliver Thorn?” “Yes, Adelyn Maxwell. I am. Very interested. I missed you when we spent time apart. I missed your friendship, your sassy mouth, your fun. I. Missed. You. Can we try again?” Her smile. That bright smile I’m seeing now is the one I have longed to see. “Yes, Thorn. I want that, but my answer would depend on what you’re willing and unwilling to do.” Fair enough. “I can’t answer that until I know the things you like.” She pulls her hair into a ponytail and twists her locks into a knot on top of her head before releasing it and repeating the process again. “How do we go about this? Verbally go through a list or do some trial runs to see what you’re comfortable doing?” “I hadn’t gotten that far in my head.” I’ve been stuck on the part where she says yes or tells me to go to hell. And she said yes. “Talking about it and doing it are two different things.” “I wouldn’t think otherwise.” She gets up from the sofa, takes my hands in hers, and tugs so I’m standing. “Take me to your bedroom. Let’s experiment. Compromise. See what happens.” The walk to my bedroom is the longest ever. I turn on the lamp beside my bed and face her. Awaiting instructions. “I have bad news, Thorn. We’re not having sex tonight. I already know that’s in your comfort zone. Tonight is about finding out what isn’t.” I thought we were here to explore. Compromise. How do we do that without sex? I humiliated her last time. Made her feel insecure about herself and what she wanted. I guess I have to earn back the right to be inside her again. And I will. “Okay.” “First lesson. An alpha male wouldn’t simply say okay if he were in the mood to fuck.” “I was taught when a woman says no, she means it, so you’d better listen to her.” Libby Thorn would kick my ass if she ever thought I made the decision to not hear a woman tell me no. “That’s true for every other woman in the world. But those women don’t belong to you. This is different because I’m yours. Or I may be depending upon how this goes.” Adelyn and I are so compatible outside the bedroom. I really want, and need, that compatibility to spill over into our sexual chemistry. I desire so much more with her than just a friendship. I want this to be more than just fucking. I’m yours. It’s strange, and hot as hell, to hear her say she belongs to me. But that can’t

mean I take her whenever I feel like it whether she wants to or not. “Are you telling me to force you?” No way in hell I’m doing that. You can put rape and choke in the same no-fucking-way-that’s-happening category. “No. I’m telling you to convince me otherwise. Make me want it when I think I don’t.” She turns and pulls her hair into a ponytail. “Grasp it. Wind it around your hand.” I push my fingers into her long locks and fist her ponytail as she instructs. I feel like a fucking caveman about to drag his woman around. “Use it to pull me back against you.” That seems painful. And disrespectful. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Or piss you off. “It’s not painful when you hold all of it like that. Trust me, Thorn. I’ll never ask you to hurt me; I don’t enjoy pain. But I like a firm grip.” I pull her toward me and her back collides with my front. And my dick. It convulses once, twice, three times before it begins filling with liquid steel. “Whisper in my ear. Convince me I want to stay and fuck instead of walking out the door to go home to my vibrator.” Adelyn wants to be controlled. Owned. And I want to give this a fair shot. Maybe make both of us happy in the process. No way she’s going home and getting into that drawer beside her bed tonight. No way that vibrator is getting what belongs to me. I push my free hand between her legs and rub. Up. Down. I pull the bunched ponytail in my hand backward and to the side so her head is tilted, neck fully exposed. I suck her earlobe into my mouth and then hover over the canal. I know what I want to say to her. I don’t need her instruction. Her scent, the touch of her after the time without her . . . She. Is. Mine. And she needs to understand that. “Your pussy is mine. No one else touches it. No one else licks it. No one else puts his dick inside it. Only. Me.” I suck her earlobe into my mouth and gently tug on it with my teeth. “Tell me who you belong to, Max.” I stroke my hand in a circular motion between her legs. “Who does this belong to?” “Only you.” Her voice is barely audible. “That’s right. And I want what’s mine. Right now.” I release her hair and move my hands to the button and zipper on her shorts, yanking them open. “I’m going to have your pussy as often as I want. And you’ll come every time I do.” “Please. That’s what I want. What I need.” That’s what a man wants to hear. That’s what I need to hear. I push her shorts and panties down her legs. “Take off your shirt and bra and then turn around. I want to see every inch of you.” Full, perky tits. A narrow waist. Hips with curve. An ass with volume in it, one I can grip without worry I’ll break her delicate bony body in half. Stunning.

I pick up a strand of her hair and twirl it around my finger. “You’re fucking gorgeous.” “Lots of guys don’t like the pale skin and red hair.” “All dumb fuckers.” So fucking stupid. She is sexy. She is confident. She is mine. I grasp her hips and steer her so she’s facing the bed. “Get on your stomach, Max.” No turning back now. And I don’t want to. I plan on having every part of Adelyn Maxwell, including her heart.

Adelyn Maxwell

I CLIMB ONTO THE BED, FACEDOWN, AND WAIT FOR OLIVER’S NEXT MOVE. NEXT COMMAND. I’M EXCITED TO see how this plays out. How he reacts to being given the power to control me. Handle me with a firm grip. Fuck me with force. My clit aches just thinking about it. Chords of electric guitars resonate in the room and I immediately recognize “Turn the Page” by Metallica. Classic heavy metal. Screaming guitars. Drums. Slow tempo but nothing sweet or romantic about this music. I love this rendition. It’s loud enough no one would ever hear my screams. And we’re going to fuck to it. Oliver’s hands grasp each of my ankles and push my legs apart so they’re in a wide V. Can you say spread-eagle? The bed dips between my legs with his weight before he crawls over my back. Skin on skin. I love the feel of his warm body against mine. He grips my wrists, pushes them over my head, and allows his body weight to press against me. “You want this? To be fucked from behind while I hold you down? Movement restricted?” He can’t imagine how much I want that very thing. “Yesss.” “I’ll do it. But I’m going to make you orgasm first.” “Please.” I want to come so bad. Need it. He releases my wrists and kisses my shoulder. “I think I should use my mouth to make you come.” My clit clenches. I’m dying for him to lick me the way he did two weeks ago. I want it fucking now. “Yes, Thorn. I want you to so badly.” Oliver glides a finger through my folds. “So. Fucking. Wet.” It’s a fair statement to say I’m a little eager. He fingers me from behind, grazing my clit, but it’s that bundle of nerves just inside my opening screaming for his attention. “Get on your knees. Head down.” Don’t have to tell me twice. I don’t need to hear the words to know what’s coming. But he says them anyway. “I’m going to eat your sweet pussy like this.” Yes, please, and thank you.

All those warm fuzzy tingles swirl in my lower abdomen. I call them orgasmic precursors. My body’s way of getting ready to receive whatever Oliver is about to give. He kisses a path over my lower back and the tingles spin faster as he inches down. My head mimics the same motion. And maybe that’s why I question the high-pitched ding I hear over Metallica’s screaming guitars. He stills. That’s when I know the sound caught his attention too. “Hear that?” I’d love to tell him no. I want to say it was nothing, and he should go back to what he was doing. Because it isn’t possible I’m this close to having his mouth on me after two weeks only to be interrupted. The bell rings again. And again. And again. Total. Mood. Killer. “Who the fuck is showing up at my house after ten on a Sunday night?” I look over my shoulder at him. “I really, really, really don’t want you to stop what you’re doing but whoever that is ringing the bell sounds determined to get you to the door.” “Motherfucker.” Oliver gets up and pulls on his jeans. No underwear. No shirt. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” I roll to my back, reach for a pillow and tuck it under my head. “I’ll be right here waiting.” “Breath” by Breaking Benjamin comes on next. And then “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd. At least the music is good. But I didn’t come here for a concert. When “Wish You Were Here” ends, I start to worry. Who has come to see him this late? Is something wrong? I get up and slip on his T-shirt before going down the hall so I can hear what’s going on downstairs. A woman’s voice. Not Lawrence’s. That much I can tell. And it sounds like Oliver is arguing with her. The floor creaks loudly beneath my weight and then a second time when I lift my foot. Fuck. It’s a dead giveaway I’m out of bed and eavesdropping. “Max?” Yup. Busted. “Yeah. Just checking to see if everything is okay.” “Not exactly.” He doesn’t sound panicked. “Should I come down?” “Yes, please come the fuck down so you can get the hell out of Oliver’s house,” the woman yells. Whoa. “Hey. Don’t do that.” Oliver’s voice is sharp. A warning. “Come down, Max.” I stop at the base of the stairs and peek around the wall to survey the scene before proceeding. Damn. It’s Drunk Lacey from the restaurant. “Who the fuck are you?” Her voice is a slur. She was trashed the last time I saw her. I’m not shocked she doesn’t remember me from the day she interrupted Oliver and me at the restaurant. “Adelyn.” Her eyes start at my naked thighs and move up my body. “No. I mean who the

fuck are you to Oliver, standing there almost naked?” I want to say I’m the woman he was about to fuck until you came along and interrupted. But I don’t. She’s staring me down with dilated pupils. Angry, looking like she might jump me at any minute. That’s okay. Bring it, sister. I will stomp your drunk ass into the floor. I give Oliver the maybe-you-should-answer-that-one look. “Adelyn and I are seeing each other.” “You mean fucking each other.” Well, we were trying. I widen my eyes and shrug. “What now?” Oliver grasps Lacey’s arms and guides her to the couch. “You. Sit.” “And you, come with me.” Oliver grasps my hand and leads me to the kitchen. He pulls out a barstool. “Park it.” I tuck his T-shirt under my butt before I sit. Doesn’t feel right to put my bare ass on one of his chairs. He swivels me to face him and parts my legs so he can stand between them. He grips my outer thighs. “Listen. I want you to know I haven’t been fucking around with her.” We aren’t a couple. Oliver owes me nothing. “Okay. We weren’t a thing—” “But I haven’t and I don’t want to.” He leans in so we’re eye to eye. “I. Want. You.” And I want him. Relief floods me as I hear his words. He wants me. “So what do we do about her?” “I’m going to put her in a cab and send her home. As soon as she’s gone, you and I are going back to my bed and picking up where my mouth left off.” I lean in and nip his bottom lip. “I like that idea a lot.” “Me too.” He slides his hands up my legs and groans when he discovers I’m without panties. “I swear I’d fuck you right here and now if she weren’t in the next room.” I’m tempted to tell him to do it anyway. I doubt she’d remember tomorrow. “Come on. Let’s get her out of here so we can continue our exploration.” “All for that, baby.” I hop off the barstool and follow Oliver into the living room. “Motherfucker. She’s passed out.” Oh, great. “Well, what are you going to do about that?” “I’m getting her ass out of my house.” He goes over to her and shakes her arm. “Lacey. Lacey. Get up. You can’t stay here.” She doesn’t budge. Not even a little. It’s obvious she’s not moving off that couch before morning. Oliver sighs and utters, “Fuck me,” beneath his breath. I would love to. “Would it be a dick move if I asked you to go upstairs with me and pretend she isn’t down here?” I look at the blonde cock-block stretched out on the sofa. “You could ask, but

honestly, being in the same house with a woman you used to fuck is a turnoff.” “Fair enough.” “We’re gonna need to give this a try some other time.” “Can you come over after work tomorrow night?” It’s a no-go. “Probably not. I have an event tomorrow night. It’s small but I don’t think I’ll be done until late.” “Tuesday night then?” Another no-go. “My parents will be here. They aren’t leaving until Saturday so the whole week is a bust.” And then your surprise birthday party is that night. “I’m tied up Saturday. Some band is performing at Iron City and Lawrence insists we see them. Maybe we can score another ticket so you can go with us.” Sorry, Thorn. I’ll already be at Iron City making sure everything is lined up for your party. “I’m sure I’ll be exhausted from my parents’ visit. Five days will be enough to kill me. I should probably plan on hanging out to relax at my place.” “That means we have to wait until next Sunday. That’s a fucking week. Explain to me how I’m supposed to wait that long to have you.” I love hearing him say he’s dying to have me. Makes me feel confident about going into this. Again. “I don’t know. You just do.” “There’s no way I won’t lose my mind this week. You’ll be so close yet so far away.” Next Sunday does seem like a long time from now. “I’m certain you’ll find a way to survive until next weekend.” “Maybe you should sneak out of the house and come over after your parents go to sleep.” I haven’t done that since I was a kid. “Like I’m thirteen?” “No. Like you’re twenty-seven and horny.” “Well, I am both of those things.” Oliver looks over at Lacey. “I swear I could choke the fuck out of her.” “Are you sure about that?” Oliver cups his hand around the side of my neck and uses his hold to pull me in for a quick kiss. “Smart ass.” “You walked right into that one, Thorn.” “Sure did.” “It’s getting late. I’m heading home.” Drunk Lacey has ruined this night for me. The longer I look at her, the more I want to throat punch her. He slips his hands under the T-shirt I’m wearing and palms my bare ass cheeks. “Going home like this?” “I was going to run upstairs and get my clothes. But yeah, I was planning to wear your shirt home.” “Will you at least leave your panties?” “Why? Do you plan to wear them?” “No. I plan to sniff them while I jerk off every night.” Holy shit.

I get to think about that all week. “Yeah. Keep the panties.”

Oliver Thorn

I HAVEN’T DONE THE MEET THE PARENTS THING SINCE EDEN. I FORGOT HOW NERVE-WRACKING THIS CAN be. And the pressure is doubled, no quadrupled, when the woman you want to date has a preacher for a father. A Southern Baptist preacher, no less. They’re a different kind of animal. “Oliver, Addie tells us you’re from Savannah.” Neutral conversation. No hellfire and brimstone. That works for me. “Yes, sir. Lived there ’til I left for college in Alabama. I return for the weekend every three or four months since my parents still live there.” I can tell by Mrs. Maxwell’s that-is-so-nice-of-a-son smile she likes my answer. “You must be close to your parents if you see them so often although you live hours apart.” “We’re very close. They come here to visit my sister and me in between our trips to Savannah so I see them every couple of months.” I can tell she likes that answer too. Maybe my beer-brewing career and tattoos haven’t turned her against me completely. “I wish we could see our Addie more often but it’s such a long drive. Michael’s bad back keeps us from being able to ride in the car for long periods.” I can’t imagine not seeing Mom and Dad whenever I like. “I’m lucky my parents enjoy being on the road. They travel all the time. It’s nothing for them to decide the night before they’re going to take off and go somewhere for the weekend.” I’ve always loved that adventurous side of Mom and Dad. It made for a fun childhood. “It’s hard for us to get away; we have many responsibilities at the church and with our congregation. Just like with this trip. We have to leave early Saturday morning so we can be back for church on Sunday.” The thoughts I’m having are wrong, especially while I’m sitting here across from her God-fearing parents, but I wish they were leaving a day earlier. I’m eager to get my night of sexual exploration with Adelyn. “My parents were able to retire early so nothing holds them down. They travel the world. Globetrotters. That’s what my sister and I call them.” “They’re probably making up for the early years of their marriage when they

were taking care of little ones.” I see Adelyn hasn’t mentioned me being adopted. But I don’t guess there would be a reason for that. “No, ma’am. They didn’t adopt us until they were in their mid thirties. They’d already traveled all over the world by the time we came into the picture.” “Oh. I guess they stopped traveling after they adopted you and your sister.” Most people would think that but they’d be wrong. “Only long enough for Lawry and me to adjust to them being our new parents. It wasn’t long before we were going everywhere with them; adapting wasn’t hard to do once we figured out they weren’t going to beat or starve us.” I still remember the first time I slept in my own bed in my own room. It was the first time in my life I ever felt truly safe. The first time I ever felt loved by someone besides my sister. “You were taken away from your birth parents?” “Yes, sir. I was six and my sister was ten.” “Praise God you were plucked from that and placed in your adoptive parents’ lives.” I’ve always been grateful we were taken from Jimmy and Christie but I’ve spent a lot of years being bitter about how long it took. I’m still not in a good place when it comes to the whys. “We were badly abused. I’ve struggled with how God could leave us in that kind of environment for so many years.” We were innocent little kids. We didn’t deserve that. “The Lord works on His schedule, Oliver. Not ours. The Bible tells us there is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens.” I can’t tell you how many times my parents have referred to that scripture. “Ecclesiastes 3:1.” “Yes, that’s it.” Brother Maxwell doesn’t do a great job of hiding his surprise. Neither does Adelyn. “You know the scripture?” Adelyn and I have never discussed my faith. She probably assumes I’m a heathen with no kind of religious teaching. “I grew up in church. Mom and Dad made sure Lawry and I were there every time the doors opened. I got out of the routine when I went to college. Haven’t really been back since except maybe on Christmas and Easter when I go home to see my parents.” Adelyn’s mom turns to look at her daughter. “Addie. You’ve not invited Oliver to attend church with you?” Oh, shit. They think Adelyn goes to church. I guess my little heathen needs saving. “She’s invited me several times. I’ve been resistant but she’s determined to get me there so I’m thinking of going.” Damn. I just lied to a preacher and his wife about going to church. That’s gotta be bad. Adelyn’s wearing a you sly fox expression. “Then you’ll go with me this Sunday?” “Yeah.” I’m not sure Mrs. Maxwell could smile bigger if she tried. “That’s wonderful.” Adelyn pushes away from the table. “Time for dessert. Want to give me a hand

in the kitchen, Oliver?” “Sure.” Mrs. Maxwell pushes away from the table. “I can help you with that, honey.” “Not necessary, Mom. Oliver is very handy in the kitchen.” Adelyn leaves the dining room, not giving her mother time to argue. I wait until we’re in the kitchen to argue. “I’m not really sure I’m all that handy in the kitchen.” She puts her finger on her lips. “Shh.” Adelyn grabs my hand and leads me into the walk-in pantry. She pulls the door closed slowly. Silently. “You saved my ass.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. “Thank you.” “No problem.” I probably saved my own ass as well. I’m sure the next step for Brother Maxwell would have been to talk to me about getting back into church. Adelyn reaches for the button of my jeans and yanks it open before lowering the pull tab of my zipper. “I want to suck you off.” Oh. Fuck. I want that too, but damn. Her parents are in the next room. “Max. Your mom and dad are right . . .” My voice is so soft the last word doesn’t come out. Damn. They think I’m going to church with their daughter. Not going into the pantry with her to get my dick sucked. “Shh.” She pushes my jeans apart and puts her hand inside my boxer briefs. “See? You want me to. You’re already hard.” “That’s because my dick is dumb. He doesn’t consider consequences.” “No worries. It’ll be okay. Promise.” Adelyn pulls out my cock as she goes down. Oh, how I love to see a girl on her knees. I can’t think of anything any hotter. Her warm, wet tongue starts at the base and licks my length. When she gets to the head, she swipes her tongue over the tip and drinks the droplets of moisture there. She just swallowed my pre-cum. I bet she swallows when I get off. I hope so. She wraps her hands around my balls and massages when she takes me into her mouth. All. The. Way. Deep. Throating. Fuck. I put my fingertips in her hair, careful to not mess it up, and encourage her to take me deeper, harder, faster. “You’re such a good girl, Max. MY good girl. No one else’s.” You’re such a good girl, Max. MY good girl. No one else’s. Those words of ownership come out of my mouth so naturally. But I guess they should. They’re the same ones I’ve said to her in every fantasy I’ve had about us since we were last together four days ago. She is mine and I can’t wait to show her. Control her. Dominate her. I’m going

to be everything she needs and more. Her suction increases and the pleasure ignites my orgasm. “I’m about to come in your mouth. And you’re going to swallow it. Every last drop.” She grasps my hips and sucks harder as her mouth slides back and forth over my cock. “That’s it, Max. Fuck me with that beautiful mouth.” My cum shoots into the back of her throat, and I feel her swallow around my tip. Not even a hint of a gag. Damn. Her sweet, greedy mouth took every drop I had to give. No hesitation. That fills me with a pride like I’ve never known. I rub my thumbs down her cheeks. “That was amazing.” She looks up at me from her knees, so submissive, like she’s willing to give me any and every thing I want. “I love hearing you tell me I’m your good girl.” “Because you are very good and you’re mine.” My research on alpha males didn’t consist of one brief web search. I’ve studied it intently so I would be prepared for the things Adelyn might ask of me. What I discovered was that this relationship isn’t going to be difficult for me. I’m prepared and ready to give Adelyn everything she desires. And I desire it too. Her. Mine. I help her up and rub my thumb over her lips before placing a kiss against her mouth. “I may die, like really fucking die, if I don’t get to have you soon.” “Sunday night. Only three more days.” Only three more days? Fuck. That feels forever away. She brushes her hands over her knees. “Baby, they’re really red. Don’t let your parents see them.” It would be a fucking disaster if they figured out their daughter was on her knees giving me a blowjob in the pantry while they’re sitting fifteen feet away. She kisses me back. “Paying attention to details. I’m proud of you.” We leave the pantry and go to work on plating dessert. Adelyn calls out from the kitchen, “Daddy, you don’t want whipped cream, right?” “None for me, honey.” I wrap my arms around her waist from behind. I can smell her arousal, and adding that to the slightly glazed expression I saw in her eyes while we were in the pantry, I know my girl is turned the fuck on. All from being on her knees before me, sucking me off. I have this strong urge to reward her, a desire I don’t think I have ever felt before now. I move my mouth over her ear. “Why don’t you come over later and I’ll give you some whipped cream?” She giggles as she moves a slice of pound cake to a plate. “I think you just gave me a whole mouthful.” “And you loved it.” And I love her dirty mouth. “I did. And I’d love to have more but not while my parents are here.” “Sneak out. They’ll never know.” “Trust me. He’ll know.” I need these people to get gone. “Then don’t sneak out. Tell them you’re coming over for something.” I don’t want to rush things, but I’ll take a quickie if it’s all I can have.

She turns in my arms and puts her hands on my face. “Listen. I want my parents to like you. And right now, despite the whole beer and tattoos thing, I think they do. Which is like a fucking miracle. I don’t want to push my luck; I’m afraid of ruining it.” She wants them to like me. I don’t think she’d care if she weren’t planning to keep me around for a while. I definitely won’t be on the top of their favorites list if they think I’m fornicating with their baby girl. I see this relationship going somewhere so I need to keep my nose clean. And out of her pussy until Sunday. But after that, it’s game on. “I know you’re right. But I’m dying to be inside you.” “And you will be . . . in a few more days.” Fuck. I’m a patient man but I may lose my mind before I get between Adelyn’s legs. “You’re killing me. You know that, right?” “You’ll survive. No one ever died from not fucking.” “That could be debatable.” I pull her close and press a kiss to the top of her head. “But I’ll somehow manage.” I look over Adelyn’s head and see Mrs. Maxwell standing in the kitchen. Watching us. Damn. I hope she didn’t overhear that conversation. “Sorry. I was just coming in to see if you needed any help.” I release Adelyn and she immediately returns to working on dessert. “Mama, you want extra strawberries?” “Please.” Mrs. Maxwell comes up behind me and rubs her hand side to side over my upper back before patting it. “I’ve got this, Oliver. Why don’t you go talk to Michael?” I know he sent her in here to lure me back into the dining room. Fuck. What does he want to talk about? “Yes, ma’am.” I take my seat at the table and wait. Wait for the other shoe to drop. Wait for the firing squad to shoot. Wait for the interrogation to begin. “I can see Adelyn likes you very much.” And here we go. “I hope so because I like her.” I want whatever this is with Adelyn to progress. And I feel like I’ll need the Maxwell’s approval to make that happen. “It’s easy to see how much you like her.” I’m glad he’s able to recognize that. “Your daughter’s an amazing woman.” He doesn’t even know the half of it. How strong she is. How resilient. “She deserves an amazing man.” “She definitely does.” “I want to tell you a story.” Oh, fuck. Here we go with the hellfire and brimstone. “I was eighteen when I met Adelyn’s mother. She was something else, and still is, but dear God . . . there’s nothing like the first time you lay eyes on the woman you’re going to love for the rest of your life. There’s nothing like that first touch. That first kiss. Or that first time she lies beneath you. Rachel was not my wife when that happened.” Mrs. Maxwell is a very attractive woman. I’m sure Brother Maxwell did think she

was something else. But I don’t have a fucking clue how to respond to what he just told me. “She was seventeen and I took her virginity. But I bet you’re wondering where I’m going with this story.” “Yes, sir.” “I am a pastor but I’m also human which means I understand your urges. I’ve been there. But that also means I know what you want to do with my daughter.” Fuck. I’ve never been confronted by anyone’s dad about having sex with his daughter. It feels like he thinks we’re seventeen. “Am I wrong, son?” “No, sir.” He’s straight up asking me if I want to fuck his daughter. If I say I don’t, we’ll both know I’m lying. “If you’re going to be the man in her life, be the amazing man in her life. Be the strong one who puts her needs above your own.” But what if her needs include choking her? I doubt Brother Maxwell would go along with that. “Adelyn’s been taught the ways of a godly wife.” Whoa. No one has been talking marriage. And I don’t remember learning anything from the Bible about the things she wants to do. “I’ve only known Adelyn a couple of months. We’ve not discussed marriage.” “But lying with her is on your mind. You’ve admitted that much.” No need to tell him he’s right. He knows I want her. Fuck me. I want to do so much more than lie with your daughter, Brother Maxwell. “Adelyn knows the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church. As the church submits to Christ, a wife should submit to her husband in everything. A husband should love his wife, just as Christ loved the church.” He points toward the kitchen. “That precious girl would make you a good wife should things progress to that point. But if that’s not what you want, please don’t ruin her for the man who will one day want her as his wife. So I’m a father asking you to carefully consider what it is you want from Adelyn. And I’m asking you to not break my little girl’s heart.” I’ve never had a father tell me his daughter would make a good wife for me. I’ve never had a father ask me to carefully consider what I want from his daughter. I’ve never had a father ask me to not ruin her. Or break her heart. It’s unnerving. But thought-provoking. “Brother Maxwell, Adelyn is a very special woman. I do not take our relationship lightly. I’ve already given it much thought and you have my word I will continue to do so.” “Thank you, Oliver. I appreciate that.” I devour my strawberry shortcake in record time so I can vacate the fucking premises. I need to get out of here. Too many feelings are swirling around in my head at the same time. “Dinner and dessert were great, as always.” “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I push away from the table. “Need help cleaning up?”

“Adelyn cooked. I’ll clean.” Mrs. Maxwell gives us the you’re free to go nod. “I’ve got this.” “It was good meeting you.” “And you as well, Oliver.” Brother Maxwell shakes my hand. “It was nice meeting you. I’m glad we were able to have a private word.” I wouldn’t really call what we had a word. I look at Adelyn. “Walk me out?” She wrinkles her brow. “O . . . kay.” We’re halfway to the backdoor when she starts questioning me. “Is something going on?” “We’ll talk outside.” We sit side by side on her patio sofa. She reaches for my hand and laces her fingers through mine. “I really think my parents like you. I’m happy about that.” “I like them too. Your folks are nice.” Mrs. Maxwell was very warm, and Adelyn’s dad wasn’t nearly as rigid as I imagined. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he told me he took his wife’s virginity when she was seventeen, before they were married. “I wish you wouldn’t go. My parents were enjoying getting to know you. And I was enjoying watching them get to know you. I’ve never had that kind of experience before.” I wonder if that means they didn’t know Martin? “They’re only here a few days. You should spend time with them.” “I’m still spending time with them when you’re around. That part doesn’t change.” “I know but you should have one on one. Or one on two. Whatever.” “Okay. But I want a goodnight kiss first.” I look toward the French doors to make sure Brother Maxwell isn’t standing there watching us like a hawk. “They’re not watching us if that’s what you’re thinking.” “I’m not so sure after the conversation your dad and I just had.” “You’re being silly.” Her hands go for my zipper just like they did in the pantry. “What are you doing?” “If you don’t know what I’m doing then I didn’t do it well enough earlier.” I have this vision of Brother Maxwell opening the door and catching us in the act. “Your parents—” “Aren’t paying us any attention. I’m twenty-seven years old. They don’t spy on me like I’m a teenager with her boyfriend.” She lowers the pull tab of my zipper. “I’m going to suck your cock dry.” Whoa. Fuck. She pulls my dick out of my pants and grasps her hand around it, stroking up and down. “You have a perfect dick. Perfect length. Perfect girth. It fits inside me the way a cock should. Other men dream of being hung like this.” I need to make her stop. But what she’s doing feels so fucking good. So much better than what I’d be doing to myself at home later tonight. I don’t think I have the strength to tell her she needs to stop. “You like the way my hand feels jerking you off?”

Is she kidding me? “Fuck, yes.” “Do you like my hand or mouth better?” That is a tough choice. “I like both.” “Okay.” She crawls over and straddles me. “Whoa, Max. Your parents could come out and catch us.” I look at the window and see them both in the kitchen. Literally, all they have to do is open the patio door to get a peep show of their daughter on top of me. “We can see them because they’re on the inside with lights. We’re outside in the dark. If you’ll think about it, you’ll know they can’t possibly see us.” Doesn’t feel that way. I feel exposed for them to discover at any moment. Adelyn bobs, riding me as she glides her hand up and down my cock. “I am so horny, Thorn. Please put your hand in my panties and make me come.” I shut off my thoughts about the conversation with Adelyn’s father and slide my fingers up the leg of her shorts until I find her panties. But I don’t go straight for the clit. I stroke her pussy lips through her wet panties first. “That feels good.” “You’re already drenching wet.” “Because of you. I want you inside me so badly I can’t stand it.” I push two fingers inside her and turn my hand so I’m able to stroke that ridged dome in the arch of her pelvis. “Feel good?” Her hips are moving in counteraction with my hand. “More toward the front.” Clits are good for one thing. Clitoral orgasms. But the G spot? That’s where you build the big O. Yeah. There’s a huge difference. Or so I’m told. I move my fingers in and out of her quickly, applying upward pressure. “Am I hitting it now?” I’ve learned the female anatomy varies a little from one woman to the next. What feels good to one may do nothing for someone else. The only way to know is to ask. “That feels amazing. Don’t stop.” Sounds like I’m right where I need to be. Adelyn rides my hand while I thrust my hips into her fist. Not like being inside the real thing but it’s definitely getting the job done. “Max . . . I’m about to come.” I do not need to shoot cum on her clothes. “How close?” “Real close.” “Got it covered.” She rises on her knees and moves my cock to the space between her legs so it’s aimed at the ground instead of her shorts. “All good. You can blow whenever you’re ready.” She grasps my cock harder and moves it up and down my length faster. Until I spasm and explode. I wrap my free arm around the back of her neck and pull her down so her forehead is pressed to mine. “So . . . fucking . . . good.”

She releases my dick and wraps both arms around my shoulders. Her turn now. She’s still on her knees so I change my angle. “Still feels good like this?” “Mmm . . . hmm. Almost there.” I finger-fuck her faster, focusing all the pressure, and my attention, on that ridged nodule. She buries her face against my shoulder and grasps the neck of my shirt, pulling it so hard I hear threads pop. “Oh, fuck, Thorn. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her hold on me tightens as her vagina grips my fingers with its contractions. Fuck, she’s wet. Soaking. And getting wetter with each spasm. “That’s it. I want my good girl to come hard for me.” Her body twitches several times before she plunges completely toneless over me. “Damn, I don’t think I even realized how badly I needed that.” I kiss the side of her face. “Good, eh?” “Spectacular. You give me the best orgasms ever.” “I’m glad you think so.” I squirm beneath her and reach down to shift my parts. “Baby, you’re crushing my nuts.” “Oh, sorry.” She lifts her leg and swings it around so she can sit beside me. “You didn’t have to get off me.” I like being close with Adelyn. Face to face. She leans into me and pushes her shoulder against mine. “Straddling your cock like that had me considering things I shouldn’t, so this is a much safer position.” “What kind of things?” She buries her face against my arm. “I’m not saying.” “Because you’re afraid it would scare me?” I feel prepared for anything she could ask of me. She shakes her head against my arm. “No. Because it scares me.” Must be something else if it’s enough to frighten this woman. “Tell me, Max. I want to know.” “I was warring with myself about taking off my panties and shorts and sinking down on your dick until you are balls deep inside me. No protection. That’s how much you make me want you. I lose my mind with lust. And it’s scary as hell.” Fuck. She’s going to make me hard again saying shit like that. I’ve never been inside a woman without a condom. Not even with Eden. Looking back on my relationship with my almost-fiancée, consistent condom use was a good idea, considering she was fucking around on me. “I know. Dumb. Don’t listen to me.” I asked her to tell me and she did. I can’t let her be embarrassed about this. Especially since I was thinking the same thing too. I wish I could see her face. Her eyes. But it’s too dark. I put my hand to her face and my thumb rests against the carotid in her neck. It’s pounding so hard. Thumping so fast against my finger. “I had the same thought, Max. Except it went a little more like ‘Man, I wish she’d let me pull her panties down and put my cock inside her right now. But I’ll take her hand if it’s all I can get.’” “And I’ll take your hand as well. If it’s all I can get.”

I place a quick kiss to her lips before wrapping my arm around her and pulling her close. “Thank you for having me over for dinner. It was nice to meet your parents. I have to say that dessert was exceptional.” “I know Daddy cornered you. I hope it wasn’t too bad.” I don’t have many experiences I can compare to my meeting with Brother Maxwell. I’ve not been that guy you take home for the past three years. And prior to Eden, I wasn’t serious with anyone. I don’t have a lot of experience in the girlfriend’s father department. Girlfriend. “He’s your father and he loves you. He just wanted to make sure I had honorable intentions where you are concerned.” She nudges me with her shoulder again. “Well, I hope like hell you don’t. I’m optimistic your intentions are completely crude and ungentlemanly.” “I shot my cum into your mouth and you swallowed it. I don’t think it gets much cruder than that.” Brother Maxwell would shit and die if he knew we did that right underneath his nose. “Yeah. That was pretty lewd.” I loved it. Watching her swallow my load was literally one of the biggest turn-ons I’ve ever experienced. Not all girls do that. “I guess I won’t see you until Sunday.” This time I nudge her. “I’m hoping you don’t mean so we can go to church together like we promised.” “No. We’re going to the bedroom instead.” So I can worship her body. “Which one?” “I was thinking yours since you’re more comfortable there. Unless Drunk Lacey plans to come back.” This is the first time she’s brought up my unexpected visitor. “I fixed Lacey. She won’t be coming back around anymore.” “Good. Because it made me jealous having another woman around. Especially when I know you’ve fucked her.” Possessive lovers are sexy as fuck, and Max is about as sexy as they come. She doesn’t want me hard for anyone but her. And knowing that—hearing her profess her jealousy—makes me want her more than ever. Now. Infidelity can fuck so hard with your head. Eden’s betrayal made me question everything about my manhood. That’s not an easy thing to admit, even to myself. I think it’s why I’ve spent the last three years bed hopping. Proving my virility. Going through all that pussy only managed to prove one thing: I didn’t need woman after woman. I just needed the right woman. Because not a single one of them, who I can barely recall now, made me feel like more of a man than Adelyn. This beautiful girl wants me. Only. Me. And, God, do I ever welcome that. “You’re the only one I want to fuck. And I fear that desire is going to become a huge problem really soon if I don’t get up and go home right now.” She’s already told me she’s considering pulling down her panties and letting me have it bareback. As much as I like that idea, it’s a bad one. We both know this. I lean over and kiss her lips. “Sunday night, baby. Be ready.” She grins like an imp. “See you then.”

Adelyn Maxwell

LAWRENCE TEXTS ME AFTER THEY’VE PARKED. SHOWTIME. I cue the band to my announcement, and they end their song. I cross the stage and go to the mic on the stand. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please? Hello.” I wave. “I’m Adelyn, the event coordinator for this little shindig.” There are a few whistles and catcalls. “Thank you. Our guest of honor is about to enter the building. Can I get everyone to gather in the center of the dance floor?” It’s a huge crowd so it takes a minute for everyone to shift into place. Lawry invited all their Birmingham friends, hometown friends and family, and their most important business associates. I think there were three hundred on the guest list. Definitely one of the bigger birthday bashes I’ve planned. “Okay, everybody. When Oliver and Lawrence make their way around the bar, I will tap the microphone three times to cue the band to stop playing and for you to yell surprise. Until then, as you were.” Coming in now. Lawrence has made this party preparation so easy. She mostly left all the decisions up to me, which actually makes things much easier. And it doesn’t hurt she’s notified me of their every move since they got in the car to come this way. I’m in my hiding place, peeking around the maroon velvet curtain when Oliver, Lawrence, and Tap come around the bar toward the performance stage. Damn. Oliver is so hot. And all mine later tonight. He’s wearing dark-washed jeans, typical Oliver, but his usual T-shirt has been traded for a black button-down. The sleeves are rolled to his upper forearms, showing off his tattoo sleeve. And he’s had a haircut since the last time I saw him. It’s closely buzzed on the bottom. I can’t wait to see if it’s as prickly as it looks. I see recognition on his face. He’s made contact with someone he knows. It’s now or the surprise is blown. I tap the mic three times. “Surprise!”

He stops dead in his tracks, looks around at the crowd, and then his sister. He says something but I can’t make out what it is. However, I am able to read his lips when he says “fuck.” That’s my boy’s favorite word. The band plays a single acoustic chord of “Happy Birthday” and then flows into the next song. This isn’t a birthday party for a three-year-old. Let’s not do that. I want to see Oliver but friends and family surround him. I don’t want to interrupt so I make my rounds, ensuring every detail is as it should be. I want this to be perfect for Oliver. The perfect start to the perfect night I have planned after this party. My phone buzzes. I know you’re here somewhere. I was hopeful he would contact me. In the back ensuring everything runs smoothly. Come see me when you can. I want to introduce you to people. With the room full of friends, family members, and business associates, I was a little worried he would get busy or so caught up with his friends and forget about me. But he hasn’t. And that makes me grin like a big fool. K. Give me 20. I find a few problems in the kitchen but nothing I can’t handle. This is what I do. I always find a way to make the car go even when it’s rolling on four flats. But delegation? I could stand to work on that a bit. Or a lot. And I think I’ll start now. “Michelle, I’m going to step away for a bit. Think you can take over for a while?” “Yes, ma’am.” Michelle has been my employee for a year. It’s time I give her the opportunity to demonstrate her abilities to handle an event like this. And perhaps if she does a good job, I can delegate some of the smaller events to her. And maybe that means I get some weekend time with Oliver. And my girls. “I’ll be around if you need anything. Just drop me a text.” “Absolutely.” I navigate through the crowd. No Oliver. Until I look up and see him on the catwalk, talking with two women. My heart instantly transforms from the tortoise into the hare and my gut plummets to my feet. This is the physical form of jealousy stirring in my belly. And I hate it. But it’s what happens when you have feelings for someone. And that’s what’s going on here.

I’m developing more than lust for Oliver. I’m falling for him. He spots me looking at him from below and gives me the come up here and join us wave. I nod and head toward the staircase. He wraps his arm around my lower back when I reach him and his fingers squeeze my hip. He knows I was jealous about Lacey. Maybe this is his way of telling me to not worry because these women mean nothing to him. I hope so. “This is Lovibond’s event coordinator and my neighbor, Adelyn.” I know I’m not his girlfriend, but we are involved, so the way he labels me causes me to pause. Deflate. “Hello.” He’s gone down on me. And fucked me. I’ve sucked him off and swallowed his cum. We’ve agreed to try things in the relationship aspect and bedroom as well. I think I qualify as more than the person he hires to coordinate corporate events or the woman living next door. “These are Lawrence’s best friends from home. Ivy and Kelsey.” I definitely want to make a good impression with these women even if Oliver has irritated me by glossing over our relationship. “Nice to meet you. I hope you’re having a good time.” “Everything is great.” Kelsey turns and points at the balloon chandelier with photos. “Adore that. So creative.” “People always love those. They usually turn it into a game to see who can send in the funniest pictures.” “Whoever sent in the one of Oliver in the womanless beauty review wins.” Ivy raises her hand. “That would be me. You made one fugly woman, Stout.” Oliver squeezes my hip and grins. “Maybe that’s why I never took up drag.” “You did everyone a favor when you didn’t.” I suspect they’re right; Oliver is very much a man. Full dark beard. Broad shoulders. Bulging biceps. Rippled abs. V at his waist. Perfect dick. No. He’d make a terrible drag queen. I don’t think Maurice could do a thing with him. “Ohhh, shhhit.” “What is it?” “It’s Marlana. She’s coming this way.” Who’s Marlana? The question barely registers before I see her. Oh. Bootylicious. She’s traded her skintight red dress for a black one, equally as tight and hoochie. And her sights are set on Oliver. “I didn’t tell Lawry about the grand opening. But I should have. I know she wouldn’t have invited her if she knew what happened.” Ivy punches Oliver in the arm. “Oh hell to the naw, Stout. You can’t throw that out there and then not tell us what she did.”

Oliver’s voice is a whisper. “She lured me outside to fuck.” Kelsey and Ivy each display their own version of a that is so nasty face. “I hope you didn’t.” “Hell, no.” “Hell-llo, birthday boy.” Her voice reminds me of Marilyn Monroe doing “Happy Birthday, Mr. President.” A bad cross between babyish and the intent to be sexy. “Marlana.” She leans in, embraces him, and presses a kiss to his cheek. For real? Oliver’s arm is wrapped around me. And he doesn’t release me even when she tries to swoop in like a vulture. “Having a good time?” “Oh, yes. A wonderful time indeed. Even better now.” “You can thank Adelyn for that. She organized everything, just like she did with BCC’s grand opening.” Bootylicious leans in and whispers, “It’s so hard to find good help these days.” She’ll need some good help when I put my foot in her ass. She loops her arm through Oliver’s. “I must have a dance with the birthday boy.” “Actually, Adelyn asked me to dance with her just before you walked up.” I might have gone along with him had he properly introduced me to his sister’s friends but I’m still annoyed, even if he has kept his arm around me. “It’s okay. Dance with Marlana. We’ll have our dance later.” He digs his fingers into my hip. “You sure about that? I already told you I would.” “Oh, I’m quite sure. Go cut a rug, Thorn.” I sort of feel bad as I watch Oliver walk away with Marlana. “She has a ferocious case of twat odor.” I must have misunderstood what Ivy just said. “What was that again?” “You heard her right. She’s a labor and delivery nurse. Her sniffer can identify stinky twat from across the room. It’s her only gift.” “That woman has trich. I’d bet money on it.” “You talking about Trichomona-whatever-that-word-is and however you say it?” “Yes. Treatable but it’s some foul-smelling shit. Very avoidable when you don’t mess with infected dick.” Infected dick. That’s a new one on me. “Got it.” “I’m thinking Oliver must have pissed you off about something.” I must look like a total bitch. Not the impression I wanted to make with women so close to Lawrence. “He did.” “Don’t forget we’ve known Stout for years. So we also know he probably deserves worse.” I’m not so sure. That woman was a handful at the grand opening. I was a witness to that. And now I’ve sent him away to dance with her and her

stinky fish taco. “Nicely played. He’ll think twice before pissing you off again.” Kelsey gestures toward me with a nod. “I think she could fit in just fine with Law and us.” “I think you could be right.” Ivy slips her foot out of her shoe and flexes her toes. “There’s an open table. Let’s sit down. These things are killing my feet.” “That’s whatcho ass deserves for wearing four-inch fuck-me pumps.” Ivy puts her feet in Kelsey’s lap. “These fuckers may hurt, but they look damn good.” Kelsey pushes Ivy’s feet away. “You look like you have a butt plug shoved up your ass when you walk in those things.” Ivy makes a show of loudly whispering. “Bitch, I thought we agreed we weren’t going to talk about my butt plug issues in public anymore.” “Don’t listen to her. She’s crazy.” These girls are my kind of crazy. “I am a little. And mildly inappropriate. That’s why I’m not afraid to ask the burning question: What’s going on between you and Stout?” What makes them think anything’s going on? His arm around me? “You heard what he said. Apparently, I’m just his neighbor and corporate event coordinator.” “There’s only one reason those descriptions would piss you off bad enough to send him to the dance floor with that woman.” “Oooh, mama.” Ivy’s mouth pulls to the side, as do her eyes. She puts her hands together and does the wiggly-villain-fingers thing. “I can’t wait to tell Law she was right. Adelyn is putting the shine on Stout’s knob.” “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard it called that before.” “Did you hear that, Kel? She didn’t deny it.” Ivy sounds excited. “No need to when it’s the truth.” I can’t help but wonder what Oliver’s sister might have said about us. “Will Lawrence think that’s a good or bad thing?” “Very good. She’s been pulling for the two of you to get together since Stout moved next door.” These are Lawrence’s best friends. I guess they’d know. I’m relieved to know his sister is in our corner. Makes things a whole lot easier. Ivy leans over the balcony railing. “Awe, hell. Look at Stout and that dancing fuck hole.” I actually feel a little bad for sending him down there with her. “I think we all agree he chose his words poorly but making him dance with that woman is cruel and unusual punishment.” Kelsey turns away. “It’s too fucking brutal to watch.” “Girl, it’s his birthday. You have to go save him before all of his nose hairs are singed.” The punishment doesn’t fit the crime. “You’re right. He doesn’t deserve that.” “No one with a sense of smell deserves that.” Ivy waves her hand under her nose. “Ugh. I think her odor is stuck in my nose. Makes me want to puke.” “Okay. I’m going down to rescue my man.” The band is playing their rendition of “Your Body Is A Wonderland.” Not bad. I like it, but the same can’t be said for Marlana or the way she’s hanging all over Oliver. My Oliver.

I time my approach perfectly with the end of the song. She’s danced with him long enough so there shouldn’t be a protest about giving him up. “May I cut in?” “I need him for one more, hon. We didn’t get a slow song.” Bitch. “Bad timing, I’m afraid. This is our song.” “Your song?” “That’s right. Adelyn and I are dating.” Oh, he decides to claim me when it’s convenient. “Thanks for coming, Marlana. Enjoy the rest of the party.” Oliver steps away from her, turns his back, and takes me in his arms. She has been dismissed. That’s right, bitch. He’s mine. “Be sure and get some stout cake before you go. It’s delish.” Oliver leads me, maybe in some kind of a two-step, to the other side of the dance floor. “You have some smooth moves tonight, birthday boy.” “I think yours are much smoother. Or underhanded.” Okay. He’s calling me out on what I did. Guess I deserve that. “I’m sorry.” “Why the fuck did you send me off with her?” Admitting I’m angry about the way he labeled me is going to reveal a lot about my feelings. But I don’t care. Maybe Oliver should know I think of myself as more. “I got a little pissed off when you introduced me as your neighbor and employee.” “But you are my neighbor. And we’ve hired you for two events in a month.” Not the answer I was looking to get from this confrontation. “So all of your neighbors and employees suck your dick?” He laughs while nodding. “Okay. I get it now.” I’m not finished with him yet. “And another thing. We agreed to try this. A relationship. Don’t you think I’m worthy of being told today is your birthday?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of how that might make you feel.” “Well, it hurt my feelings.” I hate admitting that. Makes me feel weak. “Keeping it from me says more than you might think.” His looks thoughtful for a moment. The skin around his eyes wrinkles before the blue diverts away from me. His mouth pinches into a tight line so nothing slips out before he’s given it plenty of thought. I can almost see the wheels in his head spinning out of control as he considers my words. He isn’t immediately jumping on the excuse wagon like so many men do. He’s giving this thought. Considering my feelings. “It’s not like that, Max. It’s just . . . I’m not big on celebrating my birthday. It’s like any other day to me.” “Except it’s not. You’re turning thirty. One of those numbers with a zero behind it. They only come every ten years so they’re special.” “Not to me.” I’m going to change his mind about this. “I want this one to be special. A birthday you’ll never forget. And I’m going to

make sure that happens when we get home.” “I’ll take that.” The band is playing their version of “I Don’t Want To Change You” by Damien Rice. One of my favorites. “You told Marlana this was our song. I think it should be.” “It’s a good one.” I’m not sure it’s right for a couple to make a song theirs without fitting lyrics. “But it doesn’t describe us. It says the opposite.” “Why do you say that?” “Because I’m trying to change you, or change your mind, about giving me the things I want.” I’m not sure that’s fair to Oliver. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m being selfish. “I’ve been doing research. We’re gonna find ways to compromise.” He’s interested and open to learning. He wants to bend? “What kind of research?” “You’ll see.” “Tonight?” Please say yes. “Perhaps.” “I’m ready for this party to be over so we can go to your house.” Oliver holds the sides of my face and kisses me, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth. “You like doing that, don’t you?” “Yeah, but I like sucking your clit more.” Tingly sensations spread throughout my lower pelvis. “Totally unfair to say that when we have to wait.” “I want you thinking about it the rest of the night. I need my good girl to be drenching wet for me.” I love when he puts an edge of growl behind his words. “No worries there. You’ve taken care of that.” “Good.” There’s that smile. Triumphant. Smug. Sexy as fuck. I need to get away from Oliver before I consider dragging him into a broom closet. “I should check in with Michelle. Make sure everything is going according to plan. You need to mingle with your guests.” “I’d rather be with you. But I’ll make the rounds to talk to everyone because you say so.” “Don’t have too many beers. I don’t want your senses overly dulled later.” I have a surprise in store for him. “Don’t worry, baby. I have no intentions of missing out on a thing you have planned for me.”

OLIVER’S FRIENDS DON’T KNOW WHEN TO STOP PARTYING. HE’S A BEER BREWER SO I GUESS IT GOES WITH the territory. But damn. It’s after one in the morning. I’m ready to go so we can get the after-party started. “I know my brother’s friends well. Do whatever it takes to start moving them out of here or they’ll stay all night.” I know what I have to do. “It’s a concert venue. I’ll get the band to play “Closing Time.” That’ll get some of their asses moving out the door.” “Well . . . maybe.” Lawrence doesn’t sound optimistic. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll have them turn on all the lights.” Drunks hate well-lit places. A flip of the switch and it’s like a stampede of rats running for the sewers. An hour. A fucking hour to get everyone out of the building. I will need to remember that if I ever plan another party for Oliver’s friends. “Michelle, I’m going to start taking boxes to the van.” “I’m putting it in overdrive so we can get out of here before sunup.” I can tell she doesn’t mind being here late. I don’t think she has stopped smiling since I told her to take charge. “I’m going to pay you overtime.” “You don’t have to do that. I’m one hundred percent fine with being here.” She stops and does her happy dance. The running man. “I got to take charge.” Her dancing is better than her singing. “And you did a fabulous job. I’m very proud of you.” She’s young, but I see so much of myself in her. Such a go-getter. I’m happy she hasn’t been put into a position where she must depend on someone like Martin to achieve success. If she stays on the right path, I’m going to help this girl go places. Michelle comes to me. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “Thank you so much, Adelyn, for trusting me enough to pass the baton.” This won’t be the last time I do it. “I think we should let you take over more often.” Having a right hand as needed, one I could trust, would be priceless. Oliver and I might actually get some weekends together. “I’d love that.” “Why don’t you go and let me take care of this?” That is such a tempting offer. “Kevin can help me carry this stuff to the van. Go on. Get out of here and enjoy the rest of the night with your boyfriend.” Boyfriend. I think I will. “Thanks. See you Monday.”

The place has cleared out but I don’t see Oliver anywhere in sight. I’m leaving. Where are you? Parking lot. Talking with friends. Got to put something in the van around back then we’re leaving. Hope you’re ready for the real party. Fuck yes. Good. Give me 5. I’m standing by the van when I’m pushed against its back door with my arms shoved over my head. Hard cock pressing against my ass. Not painful but definitely forceful. Authoritative. Domineering. Powerful. Oliver is beginning to take this role as a dominant male seriously. I fucking love it. I sway my ass from side to side, rubbing it against him. “Couldn’t wait five minutes, huh?” Oliver binds one hand around both of my wrists to hold me in place. His other hand snakes around my waist beneath my skirt and dives into my panties. Two fingers plunge inside me, thrusting slowly. “Mmm . . . that feels good.” Warm breath against my ear sends goosebumps down my body. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this sweet little cunt, my kitten.” Fuck. No, no, no. I look at the strong arm pinning my hands to the van. No black shirt with the sleeves rolled to the upper forearm. No tattoo. No. In its place, I see a white button-down with a monogrammed cuff link. RDM. Martin. Fuck. No. I buck and struggle to free myself from his hold but he’s pinning me hard with his body. He doesn’t budge. And I panic. My scream for Oliver is muffled when he rips his hand from my panties and covers my mouth. I bite his hand in desperation, and it leaves my mouth, landing on my neck. Right against my carotid. Martin knows exactly how to squeeze so I pass out in a snap. So I stop struggling. If I black out, this is over. “I saw you on that stage tonight, and everything about us came rushing back to

me. How much I miss you and how badly I want you back in my life.” Do not show fear. Do not feel fear. You can control your reactions. Defend yourself. Remember what Willie taught you. You spent months preparing for this moment because you knew this day would eventually happen. Easier said than done. I’m shaking like a fucking leaf in a storm. “Come back to me, Adelyn. Marry me.” What the hell? How could he think I’d do that? Martin would love having me under his thumb as his wife. Legally bound. I’m certain he believes this move would put an end to his blackmail problems. He’s out of his fucking mind. He tried to kill me. Safety is so close. Just around the corner of the building. Oliver is waiting for me. I could call out for him again but I’m terrified of what Martin will do to me. Maybe I just keep him talking. Stalling. Giving Oliver time to come for me. Please, Oliver. Please, come for me. “You so easily forget what you did to me.” His whiskey-infused breath is on my ear. Makes my fucking skin crawl. “I haven’t forgotten, love. But we can start over. It’ll be like that other life never happened.” He seriously thinks we can start fresh? One word: Delusional. “I will never forget or forgive what you did to me.” His woodsy fragrance infused with Jack and Coke, a scent once so familiar, engulfs my nose. Sickening. How did I ever find that sexy? “Marry me and you’ll have everything your heart desires. I’ll give you all the babies you want. You won’t have to work. You can stay home and be a mother like you always wanted.” No. That’s what Martin wanted. Me tied to him at home with his kids. That was never my plan, but he damn sure tried to convince me it was. He wants to talk babies? We’ll talk babies. I’m about to drop the bomb I’ve been holding for four years. “You mean you’ll give me another baby to replace the one you killed when you nearly beat me to death?” I’ve always wanted to tell him he finally got his wish and then destroyed it. “I was pregnant with your child and you beat it out of me.” “No . . . no . . . fuck, no.” I can’t see the pain on his face, but I hear it in his voice. And I’m glad. Thrilled I’m able to hurt him in some way. Most men wouldn’t mourn the loss of an unborn child. But Martin’s not every man. He had gone through four wives by the time I came along and none of them had given him what he wanted so badly. A child. Specifically, a son to carry on his name and take over his empire. I was so certain he was infertile. That’s why I didn’t put up a fuss when he demanded I stop taking my birth control pills. I thought there was no way I’d get pregnant if his four previous wives hadn’t. He was the common denominator in the equation for no baby. And I was so very wrong.

“God, you had my baby inside you that night. I wouldn’t have laid a finger on you had I known.” There isn’t a place hot enough in hell for this man. I wish he were dead and burning right now. “He would be three years old, probably running around getting into all kinds of mischief, if you hadn’t beat me until you killed him. Your own flesh and blood? Probably your only chance at a son.” I have no idea if the baby was a boy or girl but I know the thought of losing a son kills him. “Oh, God. I didn’t know, kitten.” Kitten. That word from his lips makes my hair stand on end. I hate it. He releases my hands and turns me so I’m facing him. He cradles his hands on each side of my face. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Those eyes. I never wanted to look into this man’s eyes again. He’s insane. And the dark obsession I see there confirms it. “I’m not sorry. Not one bit. That baby would have tied me to you the rest of my life. And you would have made me miserable every day I walked this earth.” I’ve thought that in my head on a daily basis for four years, but I’ve never said the words aloud. Because they’re so ugly and horrible. It was an innocent baby. It didn’t ask to be conceived. And it sure didn’t ask to be killed. “You’re angry with me about the baby. And you should be; it was all my fault you lost him. But I swear I’ll make it up to you. We’ll try again. I’ll put another baby inside you, and we’ll have our family.” He’s seriously lost his mind. “No. Way. In. Hell.” I shove at him but he doesn’t budge. “Let go of me, Martin.” “No. You’re coming home tonight, back into our bed, where you belong. So help me, Adelyn, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you if you fight me. You know I will.” Yes. I know all too well what Martin is capable of doing. If he says he’s taking me, he fucking means it. And now I’m absolutely terrified. It’s now or never. “Oliver!” I’m able to scream his name once before Martin spins me around and pins me in a bear hug with one hand over my mouth. “Dammit, kitten. Why’d you have to do that?” He lifts me from the ground and walks backward. I know he’s taking me to his car. No. Not again. If he gets me inside, I’m a goner. I will choose death over submitting to him again. I’m not ready to die so I choose to stop panicking and recall Willie’s teachings. Adelyn, work with your attacker’s movement rather than fight against it. Use the lift to help facilitate an effective defense. Martin wants a fight? I’ll give him a fucking fight. I kick out of my heels when he lifts me higher. I put the sole of one foot on his thigh and push away from him so I can kick out my leg and gain the needed momentum to slam it backward in an upward motion into his balls. “You . . . motherfucking . . . bitch . . . whore.”

Martin immediately bends forward, just as Willie said he would, and my feet are back on the ground. My chance to run. Except he doesn’t release me. Lean forward, Adelyn, and throw a reverse elbow to your attacker’s head. He’s bigger. Stronger. Maybe even faster. But also completely unprepared for what is about to come his way. It’s as though I’m hearing Willie’s voice in my head. And I obey. I lift my left heel from the ground and turn so my right elbow can catch Martin directly in the nose. And it does. “Stop it, kitten.” I repeat the jab a second time. And a third. I will not stop until he releases me. Or my arm breaks. And even then I’ll turn and use the other arm. Martin releases his hold on me and I stumble forward, nearly losing my balance and then falling on all fours on the asphalt. “What the hell is wrong with you, Russ?” I look back at Martin. His face is red. He’s struggling to free himself but it’s no use. Oliver. Thank God. He’s holding Martin in a chokehold from behind, and he isn’t letting go. If anything, his grip is growing tighter. “What the fuck, man?” “She’s mine.” Oliver looks at me, total confusion on his face. “What’s he talking about?” “Russ Martin.” That one word, his surname, is all it takes for Oliver to understand. I never called him Russ. He was my boss, Mr. Martin. And then just Martin. Ferocity. A look I’ve never seen on Oliver’s face. And then Oliver’s bicep bulges as he squeezes tighter. “You like beating up on women who can’t defend themselves?” I watch Martin’s face go from red to purple to a shade of ash. “Oliver, you’re choking him.” “Oli . . . ver.” Martin is barely able to speak. I’m watching the life slowly drain from Martin’s eyes. And it scares me. But not for him. “Stop. Please. You’re going to kill him. And then where would we be?” No two ways about it. Martin is dying before my eyes––by Oliver’s hand. “Baby, please. Don’t do this to yourself. To us.” Oliver is like a dog who has a taste of blood, and doesn’t want to relax his clenched jaw, so I move closer. “Look at me.” He ignores me so I pat my chest. “Look at me, Thorn.” He does but I can tell he doesn’t want to. “You have to stop. Please.” I see his grip lessening. “That’s it, Thorn.” “I’m letting go, you son of a bitch. Make one move toward Adelyn and I will end you.” Oliver’s jaw is clenched. His teeth gritted. His voice a deep snarl. What I see in Oliver’s eyes tells me his words aren’t a threat. He means what he

says. Martin falls to the ground, panting for air, holding the front of his throat. “Fuck, Stout. Feels like you crushed my windpipe.” “You’re a lucky fuck I didn’t.” He puts both hands in his hair and fists the top. “I can’t believe this. Russ Martin.” He bends over and puts his hands on his thighs. He looks like he may throw up. “All this time I’ve been imagining this Martin guy was some kind of inhuman monster. Turns out he’s my business client. Someone I considered my fucking friend. How? How could I have not seen that?” Oliver straightens when I approach him. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my head to his chest. “I’m so sorry.” He strokes his hand from the crown of my head to the end of my hair. “Fuck, Adelyn. This isn’t on you.” I lift my head from his chest. “Please just get me out of here.” “We need to call the police. That fucker needs to go to jail.” I look at Martin stretched out on the pavement, still working to catch his breath while holding his throat. Doesn’t look like he’ll be getting up anytime soon. “No.” “Come on, Adelyn. You can’t be serious. He assaulted you. Tried to kidnap you. And he would’ve been fucking successful if I hadn’t come back here.” It’s too late for help from the police. I’m in too deep. “I’ve been blackmailing him for four years. You think he won’t rat me out if I have him arrested? Financial records will prove what I’ve been doing. All the money I’ve taken from him. If he goes to jail, I go too. Except he’ll probably get off while I’ll rot. Everything that happened here tonight is hearsay. No proof other than what we claim. So please tell me you understand. I’m fucked.” Totally backed into corner. But it’s my own fault. No argument. Because he knows I’m right. “Looking at him makes me sick. Can we just go now?” “Yeah, baby.” Oliver takes his phone from his pocket. “This is Oliver Thorn. I need a pickup at Iron City. ASAP.” No two ways about it. I’m fucked. And not in the way I want to be.

Oliver Thorn

LEAVING RUSS SAFE AND SOUND IN THAT PARKING LOT FUCKING KILLED ME. KILLED. ME. I WANTED TO DO to him what I did to Jimmy. Make him pay for all his wrongs. Or truth be told, much worse. I lost it. In that moment when my arm was locked around his airway, I wanted nothing more than him dead. But then Adelyn made me look at her. Made me hear her. And I knew I’d lose her if I didn’t stop. If I didn’t take back control. Adelyn isn’t saying a word. I hope it’s because she doesn’t want to have a conversation about Russ in front of the driver from the car service. Not because I scared the fuck out of her or because she’s going to shut down on me. I want her to feel safe so I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hold tightly. He had his hands on her. His fucking hands . . . She burrows into my side, much like a baby bird being protected by its mother’s wing. He hurt my girl. The terror in her eyes. The silence is killing me. I can’t wait until we’re home to be sure she’s all right. What if I hadn’t come when I did? I could have lost her. I lower my mouth so it’s over her ear and speak in the softest voice my vocal cords will allow. “Did he hurt you?” “No. But . . .” She stops and I know in my heart something bad will follow that pause. “You can tell me.” She presses her face into my shoulder. Her voice is barely a whisper so I must listen carefully to make out what she’s saying. “He came up behind me so I didn’t see him. I could only feel him. And I thought . . . I thought he was you.” The dam holding her tears bursts, and she fists my shirt, clinging to me as though she’ll be swept away in their current. He was touching her. He was touching her. Maybe more. And she thought it was me. I can barely contain the rage within me. “What did he do?” Her only answer is her body shuddering against my chest. Lawry used to do the same thing when she’d retreat into that world inside her head where no one could

hurt her. I can’t let Adelyn go to that place. I need her here with me. “It’s okay. You can tell me. It wasn’t your fault.” I cup my hand around her head and kiss the top of her hair. “We can tell each other anything. I know your darkest secrets. You know mine. It’s what we do. It’s who we are.” She breathes in deeply and exhales over several seconds as if stringing out the moment before she has to say the words. “I thought you were pinning me against the van. Maybe exploring your newfound dominance over me. It never crossed my mind you weren’t the one grinding behind me. Or the one pulling up my skirt and putting your hand in . . . my panties.” She shudders. “I screamed so loud for you when I realized it was his fingers . . .” Fucking. Son. Of. A. Bitch. “You don’t have to say it.” I know exactly what the fucker did with his fingers. To my girl. “Please don’t be angry with me. I swear I had no idea it was him.” “I know. Not angry at you.” I should have killed that motherfucker. I was nearly too late. He touched her. I kiss the top of her head again so she’ll know I don’t blame her. “You’re staying with me tonight.” And the next night. Maybe the one after that too. I may never let her be alone again. I don’t see her nod, but I feel the movement against my chest. “I’d like to grab some things from home first.” “That’s no problem.” I enter Adelyn’s house first, just in case Russ isn’t smart enough to stay away from her. Once we’re in her bedroom, she walks around in a daze. She occasionally stops and goes completely still, her face grimacing. I’ve no doubt her mind is revisiting his attack. I want to kill him. “Just get the necessities for tonight. If you think of something you need I can come back for it.” “Okay.” She’s still standing there like a zombie so I feel like she needs a little coaxing. “Toothbrush. Hairbrush. Something to sleep in.” We’ll only be next door. No need to take a lot of stuff. “That should do for tonight, don’t you think?” “Almost.” She goes to her dresser and takes out a tank top, boxer shorts, and a pair of panties. “Do you mind if I use your shower?” The panties are a reminder of where his hand was. Destination: trash. “I don’t mind.” She’s stuffing her things in a duffle when I notice the black lacy lingerie set on the bed. “I was going to wear that tonight. My birthday gift for you.” Oh my beautiful girl. My party was a huge undertaking even for an experienced event coordinator like Adelyn. She must have known she would have been worn out by the time we made it home. Yet that lingerie set on the bed proves she had pleasing me on her mind. Exhaustion, be damned.

That fucker ruined everything. I should have killed him. “Another night.” I regret my words the moment they leave my mouth; I sound like an insensitive ass trying to schedule sex for later. She was just assaulted. He had his hands on her. Fuck. Of course, having sex is the last thing on her mind. “That was a thoughtless thing to say. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” “I still want our night. Just not this night.” She needs to understand skipping sex is fine with me. But I also want her to see what the fucker did doesn’t change the way I feel about us. I go to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I want it too but not a second before you’re ready. I will give you as long as you need.” She kisses the top of my forearm. “You are a very sweet and considerate man.” “I’m also a very tired man. Think you have everything you need?” “Good enough.” I once thought the close proximity of our houses was a problem. And it sorta was during our awkward separation. But I love living so close to the woman I’m dating. Adelyn follows me through my house and into the master bathroom. I put her duffle on the counter. Seems odd seeing something so feminine in my house. “Need anything?” “Towel and wash cloth?” “Right. Sorry.” I open the closet and take out one of the fancy towel sets Lawrence bought for special guests. I’m pretty sure Adelyn qualifies. “Lawry’s doings.” She smiles as she takes the embroidered linens from me. “I figured as much.” “I think there’s plenty of shampoo and stuff but call out if you need anything.” “I will. Thanks.” I change into sleep pants and a T-shirt while contemplating how to ask Adelyn what she prefers in sleeping arrangements. Does she want to sleep with me in my bed or take the guest room? I have no idea. But I want her by my side. I need her by my side. I’m unsure of the damage Russ’s assault may have caused. She may be too skittish to even lie next to me. We would have slept in the same bed. I pull back the covers, toss all the frou-frou pillows into the corner of the room, and sit on the bed, waiting. Adelyn stays in the shower a long time. A really long time. I’m at the point of thinking about calling out to her when I finally hear the water stop. She comes out wearing her tank and boxers, her wet hair twisted into a bun on top of her head. “Do you mind if I come to bed with wet hair? I don’t feel like drying it.” I guess I have my answer. She’s sleeping with me. “I don’t mind.” I get into bed, and she follows suit on the opposite side. “Thank God your ceiling fan is on; I can’t sleep without one.” “I have to run it for the noise. Creature of habit.” I lean over, turn off the lamp, and settle into bed. Adelyn is eerily calm. She hasn’t looked me in the eye since the

attack. I can’t even imagine the terror she felt being close to that fucker. What does she need from me now? Do we just pretend it didn’t happen at this point? Keep things calm for now? “You did a great job with the party.” “I had a lot of fun planning it. Lawry let me do whatever I wanted.” “Kelsey and Ivy were impressed with you. That’s not easily achieved.” I already have Lawry’s stamp of approval so this just affirms how unique and special Adelyn is. “Oh my God. Those two are hilarious.” “Those women are ridiculous when they’re together.” “You won’t believe what Ivy said about Marlana.” “There’s no telling with that one. She doesn’t have a filter.” “You and Marlana couldn’t have been more than three steps away when she practically shouts, ‘That woman has a ferocious case of twat odor.’” Yeah. That sounds about like something Ivy would say. “Does she?” Isn’t it weird to tell the woman lying next to me in bed I could smell another woman’s cunt? Not that I really had a choice. It was like being slapped in the face with a big tuna. First time I’ve ever noticed that about her. “She was fishy-smelling tonight.” “Ivy had it right. Said her stuff smells like she has a sexually transmitted infection.” And she’s been trying to get me to stick my cock in it. Nice, Marlana. “Ivy, Kelsey, and your sister are an odd trio. Lawrence seems so different from them.” “Lawry is different from everyone.” “I can see that.” I love hearing the fondness she feels for my sister. “My parents were glad to see you again.” I hadn’t told them anything about my relationship with Adelyn. I was planning to see where things went with us first. But all of that was shot to hell when Mom saw us together. To say she’s happy is a gross minimization of her response. “I didn’t get to talk to them as much as I would have liked.” I’m certain Mom feels the same. “We’re having lunch at Lawry’s tomorrow. The family, Porter, Kelsey, and Ivy. You should come.” “I would love that.” She can’t possibly love it more than Libby Thorn. She’ll probably try to arrange our marriage over dessert. “Thank you for the invite.” “My pleasure.” Gross understatement really. I need this woman in my life. With my family. It’s . . . right. It’s late, or early depending upon the way you look at it. It’s been an exhausting night. Sleep is calling my name, screaming it in my fucking ear, but tonight’s incident needs to be discussed. The Russ Martin chapter is nowhere near being closed. And I fear Adelyn and I won’t be able to move forward until it is. “I don’t want to go to sleep without talking about what happened tonight.” “I know it’s something we need to discuss. But damn. I don’t want to.”

“I need to know where your head is . . . and how those feelings affect you.” And if that fucker is going to have an impact on our relationship. “I’m angry as hell. That’s how it affects me.” “I want to know everything that happened.” I need to know even if hearing it kills me. “I figured out it was Martin so I screamed for you. But he covered my mouth with his hand.” I wasn’t there. “I’m so fucking sorry.” “It isn’t your fault. There was no way you could have heard me.” It doesn’t feel that way. I should have gone with her to the van. She had no business being out there alone. “I went on stage to make an announcement before you and Lawrence arrived. Martin was in the crowd and saw me.” Fuck. His connection to me brought him back into her life. “He told me all the shit you would imagine someone like him might say. He misses me. Told me to come back. And marry him.” “Marry him?” I’m not in a place where marrying Adelyn is on my mind; we just started dating. But fuck if I want to hear that another man is telling her to marry him. “He said we’d start over. It would be like our old life never happened. He’d give me everything my heart desired. Including babies.” “Marriage and babies.” What the fuck? “Something in me snapped. I couldn’t not tell him he’d already given me one baby and then beat it out of me before it ever had a chance to live.” “I didn’t realize you hadn’t told him about the baby.” But that makes sense. She said she didn’t know about the pregnancy until after she miscarried. I’m sure the only conversations they had following her recovery were the ones involving blackmail negotiations. “I couldn’t stand the thought of him taking pleasure in knowing he had the ability to father a child. I kept it to myself as my own way of indirectly hurting him.” “Why tell him tonight?” “I wanted a new way to hurt him. And I did. Martin had desperately longed for a child. It was an obsession. He’s in his forties now so I’m sure it’s only grown since we were together. Learning he had killed the only one he’d ever been able to conceive wrecked him. And I enjoyed his pain.” Adelyn rolls on her side so she’s facing me. “Do you think that makes me a monster?” “Fuck, no. He’s the monster.” “As much as I enjoyed seeing him in pain, I’m afraid it may have been a mistake to tell him. He immediately started talking about how he was going to . . . God, I don’t even want to say the words.” “I have to know, Max. It will make me crazy if I don’t know everything that

happened.” She hesitates a moment before picking up where she left off. “He said he was going to put another baby inside me.” My head feels like it may blow off of my shoulders. “Fuck no, he’s not. He’s never, never, never touching you again.” “He told me I was going home with him where I belonged. That’s when he picked me up and tried to take me to his car.” And where I entered the picture. I don’t even want to think about what might have happened if he’d been successful in getting her to his car. Fuck. Hearing that he said he was going to put a baby inside her—my girl—stirs something inside me I can’t ever recall feeling. I sit up and turn to put my feet on the floor. “I’m going to that fucker’s house. He may not go to jail but he’ll damn sure wish he had when I’m finished with him. And he’s gonna know to not come near you ever again.” There will be no confusion about that. “Don’t, Thorn.” “You’re afraid I’ll provoke him?” “No. I’m afraid he’ll provoke you. And you’ll lose control again.” Adelyn’s not wrong. I lost my shit with him earlier. I saw what he was doing to her, and then there was only one thing in my line of vision. Red. I put my arm around his neck and all I wanted him to see was black. That may be what it takes for him to get the picture. “He needs to understand.” “Understand what?” “You’re mine and he’ll never have you again. And I’ll do what it takes to keep you safe from him.” “I think he got the message when you nearly choked him to death.” It doesn’t feel like enough. “I’m not done with him.” “Can you at least be done with him tonight? For me?” For her? Yes, anything for her. Her calm is almost chilling, but I understand her need to stop recalling his attack. “I can do lots of things for you.” I hope it is enough. She rolls so she’s facing away from me and slides close. Her hand pulls my arm so it’s wrapped around her waist. “Is it okay if we lie this way? At least until I fall asleep?” “I will lie this way all night with you.” She lifts my closed hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles. “Thank you, Oliver.” Her words come out so quietly. How can she thank me when that fucker managed to get his hands on her in the first place? I’m still amazed she hasn’t shed a tear. Is that normal? “Sorry I wasn’t there sooner, Adelyn.” “You were there when I needed you.” She twists so she can kiss me. “Good night.”

“Good night, beautiful girl.”

ADELYN IS ASLEEP ON MY ARM AND THE DAMN THING IS NUMB. I HATE LIKE HELL TO WAKE HER BUT I’VE gotta have some circulation. “Max, lift your head.” She barely stirs. “Hmm?” “Lift your head for me, babe.” “Sorry.” She rolls to her back and tosses her leg over mine. Very touchy-feely for someone who’s slept alone the last four years. I rotate my arm at the shoulder and flex my hand to help improve circulation but I think time, and blood, is the only thing that’s going to fix this. She reaches out in the dark and places her hand on my bicep, massaging it. “Is it gettin’ better?” “A little. It just needs another minute or two and it’ll be back to normal.” She lifts her head and strains to see the clock over my body. “What time is it?” “Almost five.” Feels like I just shut my eyes. “Mmm . . . two or three more hours to sleep.” “We’re not churchin’ it after we told your parents we would?” She cackles. “No. And if Michael and Rachel call for a report, I’m lying.” “You have my full support.” Adelyn stretches. If I didn’t know by the movement of the bed, I’d recognize her I-sound-like-a-porn-star-but-I-am-really-stretching moan. Catches my dick’s attention. “I wish you hadn’t woken me. I was dreaming of you. Of us.” She has my full attention now. “You were?” “Yeah. It was a good dream. An awesome one so I’m sad it’s over.” “That is a shame.” “I think you should make it up to me.” I believe I know what she’s saying but I need to hear her confirm it. “How would you propose I do that?” “You robbed me of the orgasm I was about to have. I think you owe me one in its place.” “Tell me how I was giving you an orgasm in your dream.” “I’m not sure you want to know. You might not be up for it.” I need to experience the things Adelyn likes if I’m to know whether I’m capable of satisfying her. “Don’t say the words. Show me instead.”

“I’m afraid you can’t handle it.” I don’t like hearing her say that. Makes me sound weak. I already know that isn’t what she likes or wants. And I very much want to be what she likes and wants. She thinks I can’t handle it? Challenge accepted. “Take off your clothes and show me how I made you come.” My voice is stern to let her know I’m the one in control. “Now, Max.” The mattress dips with her movement and there’s no further argument. She’s getting naked. “You need to be naked too.” I start shedding my clothes. “On it.” She gets on her knees between my parted legs after she’s finished stripping. “Come down in the bed a little.” “You give a lot of orders for someone who likes to be controlled during sex.” She laughs as she leans forward and grasps the headboard. “This is just the first part of my dream. You’ll get to exert power and control over me in a minute. And when you do, I’ll come like a firecracker.” She moves her knees to the mattress on each side of my head. Fuck. She’s straddling my face. “I think you know what you were doing to make me come.” She’s on her knees, but too far away for me to lick, so I dig my fingers into her ass and force her to come down over my mouth. I lick once. Twice. Three times. “I love the way you taste. And smell.” I tickle her clit with my tongue as I wrap my arm around her thigh. My fingers glide through her slick slit from behind no problem. She rocks her hips in a back and forth motion against my mouth. Her body shudders and a moan is released when my tongue works her in a circular motion. “Omigod, you do some awesome things with that mouth.” There is nothing on earth like this. Pleasing Adelyn. Hearing her moans. Licking her until she comes. I alternate the suction and release of her clit until she arches her back and cries out. “Oh God! Right there. Just like that.” Her body spasms around my fingers in a rhythmic pattern at least a dozen times. One sign of a good orgasm. Another is her calling out my name. And she does. She goes lax and I know my girl is in post-orgasmic bliss. “As good as the dream?” “Even better. But we’re nowhere near done. There was so much more to my dream.” “Oh.” I don’t hate that. She grabs behind my neck and summons me to move with her. She lies on her back and pulls me on top, between her legs. “We were like this.” She kisses my lips and then moves her mouth over my jawline and down my neck. She nibbles the skin, lightly sucking on it.

“I need to get a condom before we get rolling too fast here.” Except I don’t have any. I left my supply at Adelyn’s house the night we fucked at her place. “Son of a bitch.” She groans when I pull away. “What’s wrong?” “Fuck. No condoms.” “Oh.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “I guess I’m getting dressed and making a rubber run next door.” “You may think I’m nuts but I sorta-kinda-wanna say fuck the condom.” She sucks her bottom lip as she runs her hands over my shoulders and down my chest. She grasps my cock and pumps it a few times. “I want you inside me right now. I don’t want to wait.” She’s offering herself to me. Wholly. And it’s tempting as fuck. “Are you sure?” “I’m very sure.” She parts her legs wide, giving me full access to her body. “I’m yours. Every part of me. If it’s what you want.” IF it’s what I want? How the fuck can she think it isn’t what I want? “I do.” She positions my cock at her entrance and I enter slowly. Deeply. Pure heaven. “Fuck, Max. I didn’t know it would feel this good.” I move slowly. Want this to go on forever. Don’t want to come. Not right now. I want to be between Adelyn’s legs all day. May miss lunch with the family. I grasp behind her thighs and push her legs back and apart. I continue to move in and out of her without hurry because the position is so intense. “Does this feel good for you?” “Mmm-hmm. I love the way you feel inside me.” “Tell me what you want. I’ll give it a try.” She’s silent. I think too nervous to say the words. “Show me; I want to.” I lower my upper body and rest my weight on one arm so I’m able to free the other. She wraps her hand around my wrist and moves it to her neck. “Cup your hand around the side of my neck but don’t press on the front of my airway.” She puts her hand on top of mine. “Apply gentle pressure on the side this time so you can get a feel for it.” I thrust in and out while my hand holds her neck. And it doesn’t feel at all like what I imagined. It’s so much better. She’s giving all of herself to me and submitting to my control. It’s hot as fuck. Erotic. Adelyn was right. This has nothing to do with cutting off her airway or hurting her. I wonder if this is like collaring? I’ve read a lot about that, how it brings your woman pleasure. This is about claiming her as mine. Taking care of her needs. Being the strong

alpha man she wants, but with gentle hands. And making her come hard. Adelyn closes her eyes as she tilts her hips. I know what she’s doing. Positioning so my dick will hit her in that sensitive area beneath her pelvic bone. I’m hitting it. I see it on her face. I thrust with fierce domination. “You are mine, Max. No one else’s.” I feel the onset of my orgasm. I slow my speed in hopes of prolonging the pleasure but it’s too late. I’m too fucking turned-on by what we’re doing to not detonate. I hold her in place and thrust deep as I explode inside her. Coming. So hard. This surpassed any and all of my expectations. She smiles when I release my hold on her neck. Because she’s perfectly fine. Completely unharmed. And utterly happy. We both are. I rub my fingers down the side of her neck. The pulse I feel beneath my fingers is beating so hard. Adelyn pushes away the fallen hair covering my forehead and eyes. “See?” I trace my fingertips over her neck. “It doesn’t leave bruises? Or marks on your skin?” “It does if you applied enough pressure.” Hell, no. I’m not having that. “Did I squeeze hard enough to mark you?” “Absolutely not.” She seems convinced but I’m not. I need to see the proof for myself. “Your skin is so fair. I’m already wondering if I’ve marked you.” I stretch toward the nightstand and turn on the lamp so I can inspect her body. “Everyone can see your neck. I don’t want it to ever wear the evidence of what we do behind closed doors. I won’t have people wondering if I abuse you.” “I’m fine, Thorn. You haven’t bruised me.” “I need to be sure.” The last thing I need is Mom seeing my handprint around Adelyn’s throat when we have lunch today. She would have a conniption. I hold her chin and turn her face from side to side for inspection. “I think we’re good. I don’t see anything.” “Because there isn’t anything there to see. You barely squeezed at all. It was nothing more than a gentle hold.” She cups the side of my face with her hand. “And I loved it. You made me feel like I’m yours.” Adelyn is mine. Mine to own. Mine to protect. And maybe, one day, mine to love. “I liked it too but you have to promise you’ll tell me if I’m ever doing it hard enough to discolor your skin.” Both of her hands cup my face. “I will. Swear.” She kisses me quickly before getting up. “Be right back.” When she returns from the bathroom, Adelyn turns off the lamp and climbs over me. “Let’s get a little more sleep.” She turns so her back presses against my front. Spooning.

And I don’t hate it. I love it.

Adelyn Maxwell

LAWRENCE IS TEACHING ME HOW TO MAKE HER SPECIAL GUACAMOLE. SHE SAYS IT’S OLIVER’S FAVORITE. Or at least his favorite vegetarian option when she’s in charge of cooking. I look up from the avocado I’m cutting to find all female eyes on me. “Is this not how you want it done?” I’m no amateur in the kitchen but this is the only way I know to do it. “Go on, Law. Ask her while all the dicks are out of the kitchen,” Ivy says. Gotta love the things coming out of that girl’s mouth. Lawrence looks in the direction of her living room and then back at me. “We know you and Ollie are doing it but we want to know if y’all are just fuck buddies or for real dating?” I’m not sure which surprises me more. The part where Lawrence said fuck buddies in front of her mom or that Mrs. Thorn didn’t bat an eyelash when she heard that come out of her daughter’s mouth. Wow. This is uncomfortable. Oliver’s mom is standing in front of me, waiting to hear if I’m her son’s girlfriend or the girl next door he screws when he’s horny. Rachel Maxwell would die if this conversation were happening in front of her. But I’m learning the Thorn household isn’t anything like the Maxwell’s. I still giggle when I think about Mrs. Thorn saying Mr. Thorn would probably get lucky after calling her his beautiful girl. And the things Oliver said about them going at it like teenagers. Adorable. I know Oliver isn’t exaggerating. Only an hour ago, I saw Mr. Thorn smack Oliver’s mom on the bottom when he thought no one was looking. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything to Oliver since he says they embarrass him. But I thought it was cute. Is that what my life with Oliver might be like at that age after being married thirty-five years? Can’t say I’d mind if it were. Ivy uses her palms to demonstrate a balance. One goes up while the other goes down and then vice versa. “So what is it, Adelyn? Fuck buddies or dating?” Oliver and I haven’t given it a label, but we agreed to try a relationship. And he called me his girlfriend. He wouldn’t have done that if we were fucking and parting

ways. “We’re dating.” A proud-big-sister smile spreads on Lawrence’s face. “You can’t imagine how happy that makes me.” “How happy that makes us.” Mrs. Thorn’s smile rivals Lawrence’s. And they can’t imagine how happy their joy makes me. I’m not accustomed to this kind of warmth. Martin’s mother hated me. She was old and bitter and jealous. She viewed me as competition for her son’s affection, which was always super creepy. And his sister was just indifferent. She looked at me like I was some kind of insignificant twit who was after her brother’s money. “Tell us how it happened.” Umm, yeah. I won’t be doing that. “We started hanging out right after Oliver moved next door. We became fast friends. And then the friendship turned into a flirtationship but things didn’t click into place until last week.” “I think it’s great you were friends first,” Kelsey says. “My parents came to visit earlier this week. They can’t make it to Birmingham often because it’s such a long drive. Oliver wanted to meet them and be introduced as the man in my life.” They’re all wearing the same stunned expression. “That’s a huge move on Stout’s part. It says a lot about his intentions.” I hope Ivy’s right. The man is incredible. His fury last night, although frightening at the time, was beautiful. He was beautiful. So genuinely agonized by what Martin had done to me. How could I not be completely captivated? “It especially says a lot when he insists on meeting your father who is a Southern Baptist preacher.” “Wow. Stout is dating a preacher’s daughter.” Ivy looks amused. “He wasn’t at all scared off by my daddy being a preacher. He even survived his Adelyn-was-raised-in-the-way-of-the-Lord talk.” “Oliver hasn’t entered this relationship halfheartedly. My son is going in headfirst.” Same as me. “How did meeting your parents go?” “They liked Oliver very much. They were very impressed.” Totally different scenario with Martin. They didn’t care for him at all. My daddy would have had a heart attack had he known we were living together outside the boundaries of marriage. “Ollie went through a bit of a rough patch after his last girlfriend. He hasn’t been interested in anything more than . . . very short-term relationships.” Lawrence is politely referring to all of his one-night stands. “He’s been very honest about his almost-fiancée and his life after their breakup.” Oliver has told me all about his wild streak. “It’s been three years and you’re the first woman he’s had any interest in dating. You can’t imagine how happy I am about this. I really want it to work out.” “Me too. I like Oliver.” A lot. I think we could be really good together. I have almost everything I could desire. A successful job. A fine car. A beautiful place to live. But four years is a long time to come home to an empty house. I want more. I’m ready for more.

A man who’s interested in sharing a life together. Maybe a husband. Maybe a father for children. I could see Oliver fitting into all three of those roles. “I found happiness, and I want that for my brother too.” Lawrence lights up when her husband comes into the kitchen. “And right here is the source of my happiness.” I can see why Lawrence would be happy. Tap treats her well. He’s so loving. And he is one good-looking Cajun. But Oliver is hotter. “I like walking in on conversations where I hear I’m the source of your happiness.” Tap kisses the side of Lawrence’s face. So damn sweet. “But you know you’re mine too, babe.” They’re such a cute couple. “You got volunteered to make the beer run?” “Yes I did, wife. And Stout volunteered me to check on the guacamole.” “Tell him five minutes. Adelyn is cutting the avocados right now. And tell him I’m showing her how to make it just the way he likes it. Extra lime and cumin.” “You got it, babe.” These are the people Oliver is closest to. And they have made me feel so welcome in their circle. Everything about them is so honest and open. I feel like I can be me. The real me. Not the person who puts on a front and lies to hide my blatant sins from Rachel and Michael Maxwell. It’s incredibly clear how much Oliver loves his family. And I can’t help but find that sexy and wonderful. Who wouldn’t want a man who loves and treats his family well? It’s a direct reflection of how I could expect him to treat and love me. I return to cutting avocados so my man can have his chips and guac. “Master the guacamole and you’ll win his heart for sure. He loves that stuff.” “I think Adelyn’s well on her way to winning his heart regardless. I know what I saw last night. He’s quite smitten with you. I’ve never seen him that way with a woman before. You’re special to him.” I love hearing how confident she is. Moms know. “I hope so. Because he’s very special to me.” Everything about our relationship feels like it has been put into forward motion. My thoughts. My feelings. My expectations. I’m dancing around the words but it doesn’t make them any less true. I’m falling in love with Oliver Thorn.

I GET OFF OLIVER’S MOTORCYCLE AND REMOVE MY HELMET. “THAT WAS FUN. I’M GLAD WE DECIDED TO take the bike.” I’ve wanted to ride again since the day he took me to the brewery. “I’ll take you cruising anytime you want.” I lower the zipper of my leather riding jacket. “If we make a habit of this, I’m going to need my own jacket. This one squeezes my boobs so tight I can hardly breathe.” “Lucky jacket.” “Don’t be jealous. I’ll let you squeeze my boobs whenever you like.” “That’ll be hard to do if you’re at your place and I’m at mine.” I don’t want to be apart tonight but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to push for another sleepover. It may be better to let Oliver make that proposal. “What do you suggest we do about that?” “I want you to stay with me tonight.” I’m relieved he isn’t asking me over for sex and then kicking me to the curb. “I would like that very much but I need to go home and get a few things first.” “Doable. Want me to go with you?” The obsessed if-I-can’t-have-you-no-one-will look in Martin’s eyes comes to mind. He intended on having me one way or another. I’m not sure being in Oliver’s chokehold changed his mind about that. I hate feeling like a frightened rabbit. But I’m scared to go alone. “I think I’d feel more at ease if you went with me.” “I know I’d feel better if I went with you. Just in case.” I have no worries about Oliver’s ability to protect me. He easily overpowered Martin. He literally held his life in his hands. In the crook of his arm to be exact. That doesn’t go unnoticed. And the irony isn’t lost on me. Oliver Thorn is slowly capturing my heart with his concern for my safety. I’ve never felt that before. I’m not as shaken as I pack my bag this time. I even feel a little playful. I open my nightstand drawer and remove the box of condoms Oliver left at my house. “Should I pack these?” He comes to me, takes the box from my hand, and slings it across the room. “Woman, you have ruined me forever. I will never voluntarily put one of those things on again.” He leans in and kisses that spot below my ear before reaching into my drawer and taking out my bullet. “But this, on the other hand, you should definitely pack. I can think of all kinds of fun uses for it.” My new black lace lingerie set, Oliver’s birthday gift, is still lying on the bed.

“And this? Want your belated birthday gift tonight?” “So fucking much I’m well on my way to tenting my pants.” “It’s a little early for that.” “No one says we have to wait until tonight. Don’t forget my birthday was yesterday.” He kisses down my neck and slides his hand up my shirt. He palms my breast and thumbs my nipple, making it hard. “True but since we missed celebrating it on the actual day, I would like to take the time to make it special for you.” He kisses my shoulder and lightly sucks my skin into his mouth. “You have no idea how badly I want to toss you across the bed and convince you we need to fuck right now. I could talk you into it, you know? You taught me how to do that.” It probably wouldn’t take much persuasion. “Yes. That’s what an alpha would do but a good alpha recognizes what is important to his partner.” I point to my lace ensemble. “And wearing that for you is important to me.” “I’m sure you’d look beautiful in it. But I like you wearing nothing pretty well too. And if I take these clothes off you that’s what I’ll find underneath them.” He is such a man. “Thorn. It will be worth the wait. I will be worth the wait. Promise.” “My hard-on could provide at least a dozen good arguments against why waiting isn’t the best decision. But I can see it’s what you want. So . . . we wait.” I kiss him quickly. “You won’t be disappointed.” “Come on. We need to get out of here before I change my mind about throwing you on that bed.” I pick up the lingerie and place it in my bag. “It’s nice out. Want to take advantage of the pool before we go to your house?” “First, you won’t let me fuck you. And now you want to walk around in a bikini? Are you trying to torture me?” I can see how it may seem as though that’s my intention. “Sorry. It’s just that I don’t get many free weekends to take advantage of the pool.” “I’m kidding, Max. I would love to swim with you. But I am a man so no skinnydipping.” “No worries. I’m very well aware of your manliness. It’s absolutely unmistakable.” Oliver is all male, all the time. And all mine. I can’t wait to have some of that manliness tonight.

Oliver Thorn

ADELYN AND I HAD A FUN AFTERNOON. I LOVE SPENDING TIME WITH MY GIRL, TALKING AND LAUGHING, getting to know each other more. But I swear she does something to me I can hardly control. I stay hard around that woman; I want to fuck her every second we’re together. It’s heaven and hell at the same time. Adelyn thought it would be fun to cook dinner together. And it was, but I’ve had to talk my dick down all day. He and I are done waiting. So. Ready. To. Fuck. I take the dish towel from Adelyn’s hand. “I’ll finish cleaning the kitchen. You go upstairs, put on the birthday present you bought for me, and get ready to be fucked raw.” “Thorn.” Her tone is coy but I know it’s an act. I’m speaking a language she understands fluently. Alpha. “Go, Max.” I grasp her shoulders and turn her around before smacking her on the ass. “Now.” “I need to shower first.” “No point. You’ll need one afterwards with what I plan to do to you.” I’m going to fill that sweet little body of hers with my cum. “Trust me. A shower is necessary so give me twenty minutes.” Twenty minutes? “Fuck, no. I’ll give you ten and not a minute more.” She spins around and pokes her finger into my chest. “Don’t you dare come upstairs before fifteen.” I can be in and out in five. “Why so long?” “I want to be perfect for you.” “You’re already perfect for me.” She lifts her arms and wrinkles her nose. “I’m sweaty and sticky from being outside.” It was a hot one today. “Just means you’ll taste salty when I lick you.” “No. It means I stink.” Women can be so weird sometimes. Don’t they know men were born to love the way they smell? We don’t mind their natural fragrance.

In fact, we love it. Simple biology. All the frou-frou is unnecessary. “Wrong. You smell so good I could lift you up on this countertop and eat you right now.” She puts her hand against my chest to stop me when I step toward her. “You’re not doing that.” “Then you’d better get moving. You’ve already lost two of your fifteen minutes standing here arguing with me about it.” “Oh, no. It’s not going down like that.” I tap the imaginary watch on my wrist. “Time’s ticking away, Miss Maxwell.” “I will call down when I’m ready and you won’t come up a second before I do.” I thought I was the alpha in this relationship. “You’re awfully good at giving orders for someone who says she likes being controlled.” “The only time you’ll ever dominate me is when we’re in the bedroom. And we’re not in there right now.” “We will be in twelve minutes; once you step foot inside that bedroom door I’m in control. And you can bet your sweet ass I’ll be in there to get what’s coming to me.” She’s completely turned on. I see it in her hooded eyes. Teeth tugging on her bottom lip. So I smack her ass. “Off you go. I don’t like waiting.” “Yes, sir.” Fuck, yes. I finish cleaning the kitchen and look at the time. It’s been ten minutes since Adelyn went upstairs. I want nothing more than to barge in there right now and put her underneath me. But instead I go to the guest bathroom and shower. Yeah. I’m giving in. This time. Only because I see how important this is to her. She wants tonight to be perfect. Her birthday gift to me. It would be incredibly selfish to take that from her. I go upstairs when I finish showering. We’re well beyond the twenty-minute mark so it should be safe. “Can I come in?” “Hang on.” I stand at the door waiting for permission to enter. “Okay. Come in.” Adelyn is standing by the bed wearing the sheer black nightie, hand on hip. She’s beautiful. Breathtaking. Bewitching. “You were right. Absolutely worth the wait.” “My first gift for the birthday boy. Like it?” “Love it.” I’m going to hate taking that off her. Almost. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and touches my wet hair. “I see I’m not the only one who showered.” “I wanted to smell good for my girl.” “You smell divine. And I very much like that you came to me wearing nothing but a towel.” She untucks the corner so it falls to the floor and comes up on tiptoes to kiss me. “But it has to go.” “You’ll get no argument from me.” My cock pokes her in her stomach and she reaches down to grasp it. “Where does this birthday boy want to go first? In my mouth or inside me?”

“Birthday boy wants it all. Start with my cock in your mouth. Now.” She drags her mouth down my chest. From the hitch in her breathing, she liked that. I lie on the bed, scooting backward to the middle, making room, because she’s going to kneel between my legs. She places her palms on my thighs and glides them upward until her fingertips brush my balls. She teases them, lightly sweeping her fingers back and forth over the skin. I grab two pillows to put under my head so I can watch everything she does. Very little is hotter than watching a girl suck you off. She moves her hand up and grasps the base of my cock before circling her tongue around the head. The stiff tip flicks several times when she licks the sensitive area underneath the crown. She alternates licking my length and rotating her tongue around the head’s edge before taking me fully into her mouth. “Damn, baby. That feels so fucking good.” I fist her hair, pulling all of it into a high ponytail so I don’t miss a single swipe. “It’s a beautiful thing, watching your mouth bob over my dick like that.” She takes me out of her mouth and pushes my cock against my stomach when she licks my balls. She draws the loose skin into her mouth and lightly sucks. Too many women ignore the balls. But not my girl. “You are so good at this.” “Not done yet, Thorn.” She returns to licking and sucking my cock before moving her finger to the skin beneath my sac. She presses upward while rotating in a circular motion. Slow, and then fast. Soft, and then hard. I fucking love it. But it’s going to make me come a lot quicker than I’d like. I stroke my fingertips over the top of her head. “I’m about to come.” She presses upward with her finger, and I swear it feels like I’m shooting off from somewhere much deeper than my nads. “Day . . . um. Fuck, woman.” Adelyn sucks hard and swallows when I come in her mouth. It is hot as hell watching her do that. She comes up smiling and licking her lips. “My second gift.” “Best present ever.” “There’s more to come. But the question is how do you want it?” She crawls up my body until we’re face to face. “I’m yours for the taking. How do you want me?” I’ve never had a woman straight up tell me I can have her any way I want her. I don’t hate hearing that. “Hands and knees.” My favorite position. Adelyn rolls away and moves into position as I slide off the bed to stand next to it. “Bring that sweet ass back this way for the birthday boy.” She scoots backward until she’s perfectly positioned for the taking. I slide her panties aside and push my dick through the split in her cheeks and onto her slit, teasing her. “Is this what you want?” “I want what you want.” Her voice is soft. So submissive. So eager to please.

Reminds me of the things her father said to me. She will submit to her husband in everything. Submit to her husband. That thought is bouncing around like a Ping-Pong ball in my head. “Head down. Ass up.” She lowers her head, arches her back, and moves her ass back and forth, rubbing against me. “Like this?” She’s the one enticing me now. But I have a whole lot more teasing in store for her. “Just like that.” I rub my hand over her bare cheek peeking out of her skimpy sheer panties. “I’m trying to decide if I’m going to take these off or push the crotch aside when I fuck you.” She wiggles when I push my fingertips down her crack and stroke the drenched fabric of my birthday present. I love how fucking slick she gets for me. I’ve never been with a woman who responds to my touch like Adelyn. I push the material aside and graze my cock’s tip up and down her slit. I push a little and retreat, repeating the motion several times. “I say we try this.” She gasps like a virgin when I thrust deep and hard into her pussy. I’m fully inside when I grasp her hips, digging my fingers into her flesh, moving her body in counteraction with mine. I glide in and out of her meticulously. Every stroke is deliberate. So deep it feels like my dick touches her womb. This is where I want to be. Balls deep inside Adelyn. All the time. I can’t help myself from wanting this woman. I have feelings for her. Very real ones. I didn’t think I’d ever be in a place where that could happen again. She whimpers when I pull out. “I’m coming up on the bed with you.” Want to be closer. Adelyn scoots forward, making room for me behind her. “Lie on your stomach. Legs together.” I put my knees on the outside of her legs so they’re pushed together, and she tilts her ass up so I can enter her from behind again. “Fuck. You’re so tight like this.” I lie on top of her, my front to her back, and press a kiss to one of her shoulders before grasping them both. My tight grip enables me to hold her in place, making my thrusts more powerful. More dominating. She grinds her ass against me with every plunge, and I fist her hair and pull it. “Yes, Thorn. Yes.” We’ve done this. She taught me how to do it without hurting her so I’m confident when I put my fingers into her wild mane and close my hand around it. I tug so I’m able to kiss the side of her face. I pump harder into her, and her moan of, “Yes. More, Thorn. Harder,” tell me she likes what I’m doing. We fit. We work. It feels like I can’t get deep enough. “I don’t think I’ll ever get my fill of you. You’re the one who owns me.”

She twists so half her mouth reaches mine. “We own each other. I’m yours. And you’re mine.” I can’t lie, not even to myself. “I want this. I want you. Both so badly.” I pump harder, faster, deeper into this woman I’m growing to . . . love. I think that’s the right word for what’s happening in my heart and head. I know it is. But I’m not ready to say those words. Not yet. I pull her hair harder and cover her ear with my mouth. “I’m falling for you, Max. So hard.” She reaches over her head to touch me. “I know. I’m falling for you too. And it feels so good.” She groans when her body’s grip on my cock increases and relaxes in a rhythmic pattern. Tighten. Release. Tighten. Release. “Ahh, Thorn. I’m . . . coming.” And so am I. I drive into her hard and she pushes back against me so I’m as deep as possible. My body involuntarily jerks as my hot stream fills her. I’m completely empty. Adelyn’s body has sucked every drop from me when I press my forehead to her back and slow my breathing. “My third gift.” “Mmm . . . best birthday present ever. Thank you.” “Happy you liked it.” Liked is such an understatement. Adelyn Maxwell. So generous with her body for me. My body wants her for sex. I yearn for her. My heart wants her love. Every moment with her is bliss. My mind wants both. Never known someone so giving. Falling in love feels like playing with fire, but Adelyn’s a flame I can’t resist. She may very well burn me alive because no man can stand in fire and not be consumed by it. It’s a risk I’ll happily take.

TAP IS OBLIVIOUS TO MY PRESENCE IN HIS DOORWAY. HE APPEARS ENGROSSED BY WHATEVER IS ON HIS computer so I knock on his office door to gain his attention. “Got a free minute?” He gives me a come in wave. “Yeah. Just having my first look at the new numbers for BCC.” “Looking okay?” “So far so good. Wren’s going to be very pleased with this report.” I’m happy for my sister and Tap. I want it to be successful. I take my usual seat but forego putting my feet on Tap’s desk. Annoying him isn’t my goal this visit. “Something up?” I feel dumb as fuck asking another dude about love and romantic shit, but I know Tap’s been in my shoes. He’s head over heels in love with my sister. I feel like he might be one of my few friends who will understand what I’m going through and not rag on me about wanting to discuss it. “I need to talk to someone about Adelyn.” “Okay. Shoot.” “When did you know you loved Lawry?” A smile tugs at my friend’s lips, the same smile that always appears when he’s with Lawry. As if he can’t help himself, his whole body relaxes. “Well . . . I knew I liked her a lot after our Savannah visit. I think it was six or eight weeks after that trip when I left her a note that told her I was falling for her and hoped she felt the same. I wasn’t quite ready to say those three little words but then a few days later I got a note from her saying she loved me. I read those words and I knew for sure. So I called her that very minute and told her I loved her.” “No doubts?” “Not a one.” “I told Adelyn I was falling for her but I couldn’t say ‘I love you.’ The two feel different to me.” “I agree, they’re two separate things and shouldn’t be confused.” The Russ Martin incident was two weeks ago. We’ve not spent a night apart since. I would never say I’m glad that fucker assaulted Adelyn but it definitely jumpstarted the growth of our relationship. I don’t regret that part. I haven’t heard a fucking peep out of Russ since my birthday party. I expected something from him. And so did Adelyn. She’s been so on edge. Jittery. Jumping at every little sound. She beat me home from work one night and nearly sprayed me with pepper spray when I entered the house through the garage door. She felt so horrid after she realized what she had nearly done to me. I’m furious Russ Martin’s ass isn’t rotting in prison. I understand why Adelyn didn’t pursue pressing charges, but it doesn’t mean I like it. Blackmailing that fucker may have seemed like a good idea four years ago but it’s a lose-lose. It ties her to him. And I hate that so fucking much. I want to cut those ties. Burn them. Incinerate the fuck out of those bastards.

And I’m going to. But I have to see my attorney first so I’ll know what can be done about Russ. Legally. Adelyn doesn’t know it yet but she’s done with this blackmailing bullshit. Train stops here. Yeah. I’m pulling my alpha card outside of the bedroom. And by God, she better not give me shit about it. My feelings for Adelyn grow every day. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. I’m on the cusp of being there. I feel it happening. Porter pecks on Tap’s office door. “Looks serious in here. Guess y’all heard about Russ Martin.” I hear that fucker’s name and my body reacts without permission. My muscles tense. I’m instantly on edge, ready for a fight. “Haven’t heard a thing. What’s going on?” I’m grateful Tap asks. I’m not sure I can discuss him civilly. “He’s in the hospital. Don’t know all the details, but I don’t think he’s doing too good.” “What happened?” “Fight with his girlfriend’s brother or something like that.” He has a girlfriend? And he still came after Adelyn? Touched her. Told my girl to marry him. Told her he was going to put a baby inside her. What. The. Fuck? “The girlfriend’s brother beat the shit out of him. He has swelling of the brain and a serious spinal cord injury. His doctors are saying he’ll never walk again. That’s if he survives the head injury.” Adelyn mustn’t know yet. “I’m about to head over to the hospital if y’all want to ride with me.” “Of course.” I’d bet money Russ beat up the sister so her brother was taking care of his ass and went too far. Like I would have done had Adelyn not stopped me. I don’t have a choice. Tap and Porter are oblivious to what the fucker has done. He’s one of our biggest clients and a good friend as far as they know. How could I not have known he was so fucked up? How had he hidden such depravity? I have to put in an appearance at the hospital or face questions I’m not ready to answer. “Yeah. I can go.”

Adelyn Maxwell

PROGNOSIS CONFIRMED. RUSS MARTIN IS CONSCIOUS AND WILL SURVIVE. BUT AS A PARAPLEGIC. No motor function from the waist down. Seems too good to be true. “You’re sure?” Oliver nods. “That’s what his mother told me when I spoke with her today.” Good thing I’m already sitting on Oliver’s office sofa. Otherwise, I might fall. I never have to worry about that bastard coming after me? He will never hurt me or any other woman again? The lump in my throat burns, aches, as I try to hold in the tears. Useless. They’re coming whether I want them to or not. Some people, such as my parents, would believe it’s wrong for me to be happy about this. Happy? No, relieved. My tears are of relief. Martin got what he deserved. I can move on without worrying he can come after me again. I can live my life without constant fear. But what about the woman he hurt and her family? “What will become of the man who paralyzed Martin?” Why had he come after me if he already had another woman in his life? Why pursue me? “He’ll face charges. But at least it won’t be manslaughter or whatever the offense would have been if Russ had died.” There’s no justice in that. “What do you know about him? The brother?” “I was told he’s a family man. Husband and father of three small children. Hard worker. No history of violence but he snapped when he saw what Russ had done to his sister. Totally understandable.” “Absolutely. Especially if she looked anything like I did.” You could have told someone I’d been hit head-on by a train, and they wouldn’t have argued about it. What a horrid situation for this woman and her brother. He should have proper legal representation. He wouldn’t be in this predicament if Martin hadn’t hurt his sister. “I want to help this man with his legal fees. I can’t be dragged into this publicly so it’ll need to happen anonymously. Some kind of fund.” “That’s really generous.” “I’m not doing it to be giving. I’m indebted to him.” This man has no idea he’s

ended my daily nightmare. I don’t have to live in fear anymore. That’s priceless. I owe him everything. God, I was cocky. So confident I had grown strong enough to prevent Martin from overpowering me again. But he proved me wrong the night of the birthday party. I don’t believe I was winning when Oliver found us. Martin would have eventually subdued me if Oliver hadn’t come when he did. It was a reality check, and it robbed me of the confidence I’d worked so hard to build. From that night on, I feared Martin could come for me at any time. And he could have. I knew I was looking into the eyes of a desperately obsessed man when Martin spun me around and forced me to face him. He cared what others thought so blackmail had been perfect for making him behave the way I wanted. But no fucks were given when he came after me the night of Oliver’s party. He wanted what he wanted. And he intended on having it. On having me. Consequences be damned. The weeks following the attack have been terrifying. The only time I felt safe was when I was with Oliver. He knew that and has stuck by my side. He’s made himself my protector. And it makes me fall even harder for him. We’ve been inseparable every night for a month. You don’t spend that kind of time with a man and not fall completely in love with him. I love Oliver Thorn. And he doesn’t know; I’m too scared to tell him. Too afraid he won’t, or can’t, love me in return. Oliver may not love me. But he seems happy with us. I don’t want things to change, but will he? “I hope this change of circumstances won’t affect our sleeping arrangement.” “It doesn’t change anything for me. As far as I’m concerned, the only decision to be made each night is whether we stay at your place or mine.” “Good. I like what we have.” I want so badly to tell him I love him and want to spend every night of the rest of my life with him. This would be the perfect opportunity if I could gather my nerve to say the words. I swallow hard over what feels like my heart beating in my throat. I love you, Thorn. The words are so simple. Easy to enunciate. Nothing tongue-tying about them. All I have to do is spit them out. They’re on the tip of my tongue. Dangling. Begging to be set free. “Hey, Stout.” A woman appears in the doorway of his office. A gorgeous dropdead brunette. And I have no idea who she is. Every day he comes home to me and I can’t recall him mentioning anyone who would fit this woman’s description. Not once. It’s unnerving. The beauty holds up a folder. “I have a copy of the design for the Winter Lager label. It’s pretty cool. Porter rocked it.” “What about you?”

“Okay. We rocked it together.” She steps into Oliver’s office and sees me on his sofa. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were with a client. I can come back later.” “No client. This is my girlfriend, Adelyn.” I don’t get tired of hearing him call me that. And I must say it fills me with pride to see Oliver introduce me as his girlfriend to such an attractive woman. Or girl. She looks pretty young now I have a better look at her. “This is Frankee. She’s Porter’s graphic design trainee.” College kid. No wonder she looks so young. “Great to meet you. Do you go to UA?” “I did. Graduated in May. I was super lucky Porter’s assistant quit when she did. Timing couldn’t have worked out better for me.” “Frankee is our warehouse manager’s daughter.” That means she’s Lovibond family. I must admit knowing that makes me feel less intimidated. “You’ve been running around this warehouse since you were how old?” “Daddy came to work at Lovibond when you opened the doors. I think I was sixteen.” “Can’t believe it’s been that long.” Oliver opens the envelope and takes out the proposed label. “That is a fucking awesome graphic.” “I know. The hipster beard part was my idea, but Porter did the text. See how it weaves in and out of the beard.” “Yeah. Love the colors too. It’s really great.” Frankee is beaming. I can see she’s happy Oliver likes her design. “Now we just need Tap to sign off on it, and we can send it over to the printer.” “No worries. He’ll love it. It sorta looks like him.” “I think so too.” Frankee snaps her fingers and points at the door. “It’s five o’clock. I’m outta here. Door open or closed?” “Closed.” “You got it, boss. Nice meeting you, Adelyn.” “You too, Frankee.” I’m left with an entirely different feeling about the beauty than when she first entered the office. “Seems like a nice girl.” “She is.” “And very pretty.” “Fuck, that girl is the epitome of an ugly duckling.” I don’t think anything about Frankee could be unattractive. “No way. She’s gorgeous.” “I’m not kidding. Frankee used to come to work with her dad when she was in high school over summer break. We’d let her do odd jobs around the office to help Molly out. It gave her a little spending money in her pocket. She was rail straight. Kept her hair cut short like a boy. Always wore baggy clothes. You couldn’t tell by looking she was a girl. She stopped coming to work with him after she graduated high school, and we didn’t see her again until a few months ago when she came in

to apply for a position as Porter’s assistant.” “Well, she doesn’t look like a boy now.” “No, she doesn’t.” He’s agreeing, and I can tell he thinks she’s attractive, but for some reason it doesn’t bother me. “She looks really young.” “She’s a really smart girl. I think she took a lot of hours and summer classes so she could graduate early. I believe Scott said she was twenty-one.” “Someone will be scooping her up soon.” “Well, it won’t be me. I’ve already scooped up the one I want.” I twist and toss my leg over Oliver so I’m straddling him, my pencil skirt bunching up at the tops of my thighs. “And she’s very happy to have been scooped.” I press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’m thinking of letting Michelle take over next weekend’s event so we can do something.” “I have a meeting in Macon on Friday afternoon. I was planning to drive back to Birmingham afterward but I won’t if you can take off and go with me. We could continue on to Savannah after my meeting and make a long weekend of it. My parents will be gone on their anniversary trip, but we can stay at the house.” I’ve never been to Savannah; I’ve heard it’s beautiful. “I have a meeting with a big client on Friday, but I can reschedule. Her event is months down the road so it shouldn’t be a problem.” “Do it. It’ll be our first getaway.” “Our first getaway. I love the sound of that.” Oliver kisses that dip at the base of my throat as his hands glide up my thighs. They aren’t shy about pushing my skirt up to my waist. “The door isn’t locked.” “It’s after five on Friday. Everyone got out of here an hour ago.” “Frankee didn’t.” “No, but she’s not coming back either.” “Are you sure?” “No one is hanging around, but if they are, they wouldn’t come into my office with the door shut.” Oliver teases my lips with his tongue. “I want you to ride my cock. Right here, right now. I want your pussy to be the one to christen this sofa.” I recall our conversation about him using his creativity to come up with ways to wear out this couch. I’m not disappointed to learn he hasn’t slept with another woman on it. I touch my fingers to his bottom lip. “This is such a nasty mouth you have.” He opens and his tongue does the wave. “Nasty and talented.” “That’s no joke.” The man has skills. Serious. Skills. His fingers push the crotch of my panties aside so they can dip inside me. “Come on, Max. Wrap this wet pussy around my cock and ride it until we both come.” I reach for the button of his jeans. “How can I resist when you use those kinds of romantic terms?” “I know how to be romantic.”

“You know how to be nasty. But it’s okay. You know I like down and dirty.” I asked Oliver to be alpha. And he is. Innately so, which is a huge turn-on. He’s evolving into the role perfectly. But I want romantic too. I wonder if that’s confusing for him. To hear me tell him to choke me but bring me flowers. Now isn’t the time to discuss it. Now is the time to christen this sofa. I pull his dick out of his pants and sink over him until he’s fully inside me. I rise on my knees and plunge down again, rolling my hips forward to take him so deep his tip hits my womb. His arms are wrapped around my waist. He thrusts upward and uses his hold to pull me down hard on his cock. “Does that feel good?” “Yes. I love you inside me.” He releases my waist and moves his hands to my face, forcing me to look at his blue eyes. “I love you, Max.” He stretches upward and kisses my mouth as he continues thrusting into me. “You can’t imagine how much I fucking love you.” My head spins with the reality of hearing Oliver’s affirmation. Those three words. They are the world to me. I press my forehead to his. “I love you too. So much I sometimes think my heart might explode.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold tightly as he takes control and thrusts into me over and over until his body jerks, and he spasms inside me. We both go completely still, but he holds me tightly against him. “This is what I want. You and me.” I feel the rumble of his chest when he chuckles. “With me inside you as often as possible.” “This is what I want too.” He pulls back and kisses my forehead. “See, Max? I told you I can be romantic.” Oliver tells me he loves me while we fuck on his office sofa. Not exactly flowers, pretty lingerie, and making love by candlelight. But he loves me. “Yeah. You’re super romantic.” “Okay. I know this probably isn’t how you wanted to hear I love you the first time. I got carried away. But I can be romantic. And I will be. You’ll see.” You can’t imagine how much I fucking love you. This is what I want. You and me. “You said the words. That’s all that matters to me.” I got my I love you. Correction: my I fucking love you. It doesn’t matter if we’re at Lovibond brewery on an office sofa or in bed surrounded by a dozen burning candles. I fall more in love with Oliver every second we’re together. I don’t need all that other stuff. Just him.

Oliver Thorn

I WANT MY TRIP WITH ADELYN TO BE SPECIAL. ROMANTIC. I’M SHIT AT PLANNING THAT KIND OF STUFF SO I know exactly who should help me. Savannah’s number one tour guide. “Hey, sis. Can you come down to my office for a minute?” “Yeah. Everything all right?” There’s concern in Lawry’s voice. “Fine. I just need a woman’s help planning something for Adelyn.” “Okay. I have a scheduled conference call with a BCC client in five minutes. I’ll come down after that.” Adelyn is an event planner. She pays careful attention to all details so I want everything about this weekend to be flawless for her. I’ve changed my mind about staying at Mom and Dad’s house. Sleeping with Adelyn in the bedroom where I used to jack off into a sock won’t make for an unforgettable weekend. I want to make love to her in the most romantic hotel in Savannah. Wine and dine her in the finest restaurants. Hold hands with her while I show her iconic Savannah. “Hey, dipshit.” Porter doesn’t knock or ask permission to enter my office. He waltzes in like always. He sinks into the chair across from me. And puts his motherfucking boats on my desk. Guess I don’t have room to bitch though. I do the same to him and Tap at least once a day. “Frankee says you like the label for the Winter Lager.” “Yeah, it’s cool. Very hipster.” Fits in with our branding perfectly. “She did a great job on that design.” “She initially told me you were the one who rocked it.” “Not true. It’s all her idea and artwork. All I did was help her fine-tune the text.” Odd she wouldn’t want to take credit. “I could tell it wasn’t your work. Didn’t have the Porter look about it.” I chuckle. “You do realize she’s better than you, right?” “I know. She’s good at what she does. A very talented artist.” “Especially for someone so young.” “She’s not that young.” “Twenty-one is pretty fucking young. Don’t you remember the shit we did when

we were her age?” “We were guys in a fraternity. Total dumbasses. She doesn’t act the way we did.” “That’s good to know. ’Cause if she pulled shit like we did, she wouldn’t work here for very long.” Our asses stayed in some kind of trouble all the time. “I want to talk about her position at Lovibond.” Frankee was originally brought on to help Porter while we found someone to take the full-time position. She’s been with us most of the summer so I’m sure her ninety days must be coming to an end soon. “I want to keep her. Give her the full-time position.” I was under the impression Frankee planned on leaving Birmingham at the end of the summer. “What happened to her moving away?” “Changed her mind.” “I know Scott’s happy about that.” That man is crazy about his daughter. He’s wrapped around her little finger. “She wants the full-time position, and she’s proven she can do it. She might not have a lot of experience, but we won’t hire anyone who grew up around this place and understands it like she does.” I can’t disagree with that. Scott is a loyal employee. Always honest and dependable. Hard-working. I’m sure he raised Frankee to be the same way. “She won’t be working as my assistant every day. Art and marketing and branding are your specialties. You’re in charge of all that so it’s your decision as far as I’m concerned. If you think she does a good job, then keep her.” “I think she’s perfect for the job so I guess it’s settled. She’s staying.” Porter looks happy. Maybe a little too happy. “Are you fucking her?” Porter’s eyes widen. “What?” He didn’t say no. “You heard me. Are. You. Fucking. Her?” He takes his feet off my desk and sits upright before leaning forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “I can’t fucking believe you’re asking me that.” “I’ve asked you twice now, and you’ve not denied it yet.” Avoiding the question. Same as the other times when I asked if he were seeing someone. He’s been sneaking around with someone for a couple months. Disappearing whole weekends at a time. He’s never admitted to it, and I haven’t been able to figure out why a thirty-year-old man would do that. Until now. “Damn. You’ve been fucking around with Frankee the whole summer. And I didn’t see it.” “No, I haven’t.” Porter looks at the door and then back at me. “And you need to shut the fuck up, bro. Anyone walking by your office could hear you. Shit like that gets back to Scott, and he will kill me.” I don’t believe him. “Then you’d better shut the door because I’m not finished.” Porter bolts to the door and closes it. No, slams it. “You want Frankee as your assistant? Fine. Hire her. You want her as your fuck buddy? Fine. Fuck her. But don’t let it become a problem for Lovibond.” “There is no problem.” That sounds a little more like an admission than denial.

“Good. Because bosses who fuck twenty-one-year-old employees sometimes get themselves into some precarious situations. Especially when the said twentyone-year-old has a father also employed at the same company. We on the same page?” “Trust me, Stout. I get it.” I’m not sure he does. Like most fathers, I’m certain Scott still sees Frankee as his little girl. He may not be happy about her getting fucked by her boss, a man nearly ten years her senior. “Don’t piss Scott off. He’s a good warehouse manager. I’d hate to have to replace him because he goes to jail for killing you.” “I’m not a dumb fucker.” “You won’t be able to help yourself. You’ll be a dumb fucker because that’s what pussy does to men. It turns them into dumb fuckers. And that’s even more true when the pussy is attached to a woman you love.” “You really have a lot of room to be lecturing me on the topic. Adelyn has you so pussy-whipped you can’t see straight.” “Not denying it. I am a slave to her pussy. But it doesn’t stop there. I’m falling so hard for her.” Porter’s head jerks upward from its lowered position. His eyes, wide. His lips parted, but no words coming from them. “I fucking love that woman.” Porter rubs his hand over his chin. “Damn, Stout. I wasn’t expecting you to say that.” It’s true so why deny it? A soft rap on my door prevents me from completely owning up to just how fucking deep I am with Adelyn. “Yeah, come in.” Lawry pokes her head through the doorway and sees Porter. “Busy? Need me to come back?” I can tell he has decided. He’s giving Frankee the full-time art department job. “Your mind is made up?” “Yep.” “Then I think we’re done here.” I fully trust Porter’s decision. He wouldn’t jeopardize Lovibond for a piece of ass. But I’m not certain he’s considered the business side of hiring her full-time or where his responsibilities will lie as her direct superior. “Don’t forget to stop by and tell Molly to change Frankee’s status to full-time so her benefits will kick in first of the month.” “On it.” Lawry waits until Porter is gone to say anything. “Frankee’s being given the full-time designer job?” I totally forgot that position is also responsible for BCC’s design and marketing. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about discussing that with you. My bad.” “I’m assuming she does good work or you wouldn’t be giving her the job.” “Have you seen her label for the Winter Lager?” “No.” I take out Frankee’s design and push it in Lawry’s direction. “Reminds me of

Tap.” “Oh, my God. It totally looks like an illustration of him. He’ll think this is hilarious.” “The position is in the art department. She’ll be under him so I thought he had the right to choose. And he wants her to have it.” “I think we both know what he wants under him. And her daddy will shit when he finds out.” “Then Scott should probably get ready to shit.” Lawry lifts her brow. “They’re already sleeping together?” “He denied it.” I’m calling bullshit. Porter is my best friend. He forgets I can tell when he’s lying. “You know what, Ollie? It’s not our concern. Porter’s a grown man and is very aware of what he’s doing.” “Turns out I was pretty wrong the last time I tried to judge someone else’s relationship, so I should probably do myself a favor and back off.” “Exactly. And who knows? Frankee might be the one.” “Maybe.” Twenty-fucking-one. She’s legal. Considered an adult, but shit. I see her as a kid. And Porter should, too. What happens if things go badly? What happens when Scott finds out? Because he will find out. It’s inevitable. Fuck. Porter is his employer. Lovibond would go to shit without a good warehouse manager. We need him. And he needs his job. He has a family to support. Other kids besides Frankee. “Okay. So what kind of plans are we making for Adelyn?” “I’m taking her to Savannah for a long weekend. I need you to help me organize a romantic getaway.” “Oh, fun. You have to stay at The Bohemian. Great place for hotel sex.” I’m not sure I needed to know that from my sister. “And you have to do the candlelight dinner in the vault at The Olde Pink House. I can take care of getting that lined up for you. Horse and carriage over the top?” “Let’s save the horse and carriage for another time.” “Good idea. That might make her think you’re going to propose.” Lawry’s eyes grow large. “Are you thinking of asking her to marry you? Is that what this trip is about?” “No. I just told her I loved her for the first time last week.” “Aww. My baby brother is in love.” She sighs and puts her hands over her heart. “Shut up, Lawry.” “Don’t be that way, Ollie. I think it’s wonderful. I adore Adelyn. So do Mom and Dad. I think she would make a great wife for you.” I once thought I was ready to be married. But it turned out the one woman I thought I could trust with all of my heart betrayed me. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to allow myself to be that kind of vulnerable again.” “You said you’d never love again but look at you. We’re sitting here planning a romantic getaway because you love Adelyn.”

“I do love her but marriage is a huge deal.” “You’re telling me marriage is a huge deal?” Lawry is looking at me with her are-you-fucking-kidding-me face. “Okay. That was dumb to say.” “Being married is wonderful. Brou and I are so happy. It would have been such a shame for us to miss out on this life together because he was burned by his first marriage and didn’t allow himself to be vulnerable again.” Lawry and Tap are so perfect together that it slipped my mind he was once married to someone else. He flat-out refused to ever marry again or have children so Lawry left his ass. Both were a fucking mess until they got their shit together. It was a long six months. “Does Adelyn want to be married one day?” “I don’t know; we’ve not discussed it.” “If you’re saying ‘I love you’ to each other then the marriage conversation is going to come up soon. You might want to have an idea about how you’ll respond.” “If I’m smart, I will.” “You feel the way you feel. You can’t help that. But I’m doubting Adelyn is going to want to hear that you can’t move forward with her because of the pain another woman caused you.” “I doubt she’d like hearing that at all.” I loved Eden. It wouldn’t be true to say I didn’t just because I despise her today. But what I had with her doesn’t compare to the love I have for Adelyn Maxwell. It’s in a whole other league of its own. I will do anything for her. Be her alpha. Be her protector. Maybe even her husband if she wants that from me. “Brou thought he couldn’t move forward with me because of the past, and it almost ruined us. What Eden did destroyed the relationship you had with her. Don’t let it wreck what you have with Adelyn. She isn’t the one who betrayed you, so don’t punish her by withholding your trust.” Eden loved the attention of men. It should have been a red flag but I ignored it; I thought she was hot. And I thought the sex was even hotter. She was talented in bed. I’ll give her that. But there was always a disconnect, like I was fucking an empty body. Complete opposite with Adelyn. We connect, intertwine, weave until we become one. She gives me every part of herself. Wholly. Willingly. Happily. I feel her in my bones. In. My. Fucking. Bones. “Don’t worry, sis. I won’t let the past dictate my future. I love Adelyn too much to let that happen.”

I’M LYING ON MY SIDE BEHIND ADELYN, MY COCK STILL INSIDE HER. SHE’S SLICK WITH MY SEMEN AS IT oozes out of her around my dick. Our morning routine. “Is it weird I love filling you with my cum? Especially in the morning so I know there’s a little part of me inside you all day when we can’t be together.” “Maybe a little weird but I like it. It makes me feel like I’m really yours.” She twists and looks at me over her shoulder. “Is it weird I like feeling owned by you?” We have reached a good balance. Adelyn doesn’t want to be dominated all the time, but in the bedroom, she wants me to step it up a notch and allow her to be led. To be loved assertively, not necessarily aggressively. I’ve loved it. “I want you to feel like you’re mine. ’Cause you are.” I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her against me as I kiss her shoulder. “And I love you.” She laces her fingers through mine and squeezes. “I love you too.” It’s been a few days since my marriage conversation with Lawry. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head for a second. And I’m glad. What I want out of life has come full circle. Bringing up the marriage topic feels like I’m turning the crank on a jack-in-thebox. Any second the motherfucker could jump out of the top and make me shit my pants. I want to ease into the conversation. Turn the crank slowly. But it’s a slippery slope. “There’s something I want to talk about, but I’m afraid you’ll freak out.” “Why would I freak out?” “Because it’s hard core.” “Oh. I’ve been wondering when you were going to bring it up.” Hearing she’s had it on her mind too puts me a little more at ease. “I’m sort of surprised you waited this long.” Why would I bring it up? She’s not given me any indication she wanted to talk about marriage. “What are your thoughts about it?” “I would do it if it’s what you wanted.” Really? That’s a very blasé answer about something as serious as becoming husband and wife. “You would do it just like that? You wouldn’t even take time to think it over?” I would expect someone like Adelyn, a daughter of a preacher, would need to put much more thought into the decision. She isn’t a religious fanatic, but I can’t see her being okay with a divorce. “Well, to me it’s just one more way of making me yours.” “Well, yeah. It’s the biggest possible way to make you mine. You’d take my name. That would definitely mean you’re mine forever.”

“Huh?” She twists so she can see my face. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.” I’m confused. “What are you talking about?” “I thought you were asking me for anal sex.” Fuck. “No. I was talking about marriage, but now that I know you’ll let me fuck you in the ass, I may go for it.” Adelyn’s breath hitches. I assume it’s at the mention of marriage since she’s the one to bring up back door action. “Oh, wow. We really got our lines crossed on that one.” She straightens so her back is turned to me. Means she doesn’t have to look at me. I think I’ve fucked up. I shouldn’t have mentioned the “m” word. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to discuss this right now. Or ever if you don’t want to.” “I’m a little caught off guard but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk about it.” She doesn’t move but her breathing has changed. Louder. Quicker. And her chest is rising and falling faster. “I don’t want to have a conversation this important while I stare at your back.” “Sorry.” She pulls away and rolls to lie on her side so we’re face to face. “Better?” “Much. Thank you.” I reach for her hand and intertwine our fingers. “What are your thoughts about it? Marriage. Not anal sex.” She giggles and it lightens the mood of the conversation. “It doesn’t work like that. You brought it up. That means you get to go first, Thorn.” I was afraid she would say that; I guess it’s only fair I lay it on the line first. A smile tugs at her lips and she fights to keep it suppressed. My girl’s trying to camouflage her excitement, which is adorable, but her hazels give her away. “My life has been one big party. I’ve had a hell of a time boozing it up and going through women, especially the last three years. I’m tired of flings and empty relationships. I’m ready to start preparing for a life with a woman who wants to be mine. Only mine. One who wants to eventually take my name and one day have children with me. I don’t mean I have to have these things tomorrow or the next day. But that’s the life I want when the time is right for her and me.” Adelyn is unblinking as she watches me speak. “I want a faithful wife who loves me and our children.” Adelyn looks dazed by my admission. I may be a little stunned by it myself. That wasn’t where I intended to go. I didn’t want to scare the shit out of Adelyn, but my heart stole the driver’s seat from my head. “What do you want?” I’m tense. Every second feels like hours. If she says she wants the complete opposite, this could end right here and now. We’ve only known each other three months, and I am not ready to walk away from her. I didn’t think that over completely, and the realization makes me wish I’d kept

my fucking mouth shut. But what if the chance I’m taking pays off? What if she wants the same things in life? What if she wants me too? Her eyes betray her again when they pool with tears. Happy tears. I know because that smile she’s been fighting is winning the tug of war. “This woman you’re talking about. The one who is only yours. The one to eventually take your name and give you children. This faithful wife who loves you and your children.” A tear rolls down Adelyn’s cheek as she places her hand on my face. “I want to be her.” I want to be her. There is nothing more precious than hearing the woman you love say she wants to be your wife and mother of your children. “Fuck, Max, I love you. Want you to be that woman.” “I can be that woman for you, Thorn.” She has given me so much more than she knows. Her trust. Her care. Her body. Her soul. Her heart. Now . . . her future. I pull Adelyn close and wrap my arms around her. Every nerve ending on my body is firing. I’ve never felt more alive than in this moment. Adelyn is my heart. My home. Right here. Everything I’ve ever wanted is within my reach. And I’m never letting her go. “You already are. You have been since we met. It’s just taken us until now to figure it out.” She wants me. In Jimmy and Christie, I saw revolting specimens of parents. Husband and wife. In Mom and Dad, I’ve known what I want to find. My soul mate. My forever. Fuck, Adelyn Maxwell will be my forever. Yes.

Adelyn Maxwell

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JILLIE.” “Thank you, love.” I place her pink-and-lime-green-wrapped gift on the table. The Jimmy Choos she’s been lusting after for months. “I’m so sorry we have to squeeze your birthday celebration into an hour over lunch.” “It’s okay. I’m only turning twenty-eight. And it only happens once in a lifetime. No big deal.” I know she’s kidding but I still feel like shit. Especially when I was involved in organizing a surprise thirtieth birthday party for my boyfriend. Jill, Kristin, and I always go out on the town for our birthdays. Jill’s completely slipped my mind when I agreed to go to Savannah with Oliver. “I’ll make it up to you. We’ll do dinner and dancing next weekend. Everything’s on me.” I pass Jill’s gift to her. “And if an all-expenses-paid birthday night doesn’t do it then I bet this will.” Pink and green paper flies as she rips into her gift. “Oh, Jimmy. Fuck me running in these glamorous shoes.” The shoes are beautiful. A work of art covered in crystal, gold, and bronze studs. “Like ’em?” Jill leans over and squeezes me. “I lurve them. Thank you so much. And now I have no choice but to forgive you for ditching me on my birthday.” “Feel free to forget my birthday and ditch me next month if it means I’ll get Jimmys like those. Size seven medium by the way.” “Deal.” Jill slips out of her shoes and into her new Jimmys. “So what kind of trip is this? Business or pleasure?” “Both. Oliver has a business meeting in Macon, then he’s taking me to Savannah afterwards.” Jill gets up to model her heels. They look dynamite. “Oh, so gorgeous. And a perfect fit. I wish I had a mirror to see how they look.” Jill holds out her leg and points her toe. “Take a pic so I can see how they look on me.” I snap a quick photo and hold out my phone for Jill to see. A huge smiles spreads

on her face. “Oh, man. I’m not even going to wear these into a public bathroom. They’re too good for that.” Kristin picks up the scattered pieces of wrapping paper from the floor. “So when we go out you’re going to have drinks and then hold your pee while you wear fourinch spiked heels? Should be entertaining to see you walk.” Jill is a counselor. She makes decent money, but her income could never afford her things like this. “They’re just shoes, Jillie.” She sits in her chair and slips off the heels, returning them to their box. “I know. But I’ve never had any this nice. I don’t want piss on them. Not even the bottoms.” Kris rolls her eyes. “Back to this Savannah trip. Isn’t Oliver from there?” “He is.” “Oh. Hometown visit. Sounds like things might be getting serious.” I’d say yes according to this morning’s conversation. “Things could be getting very serious. I think I’m sorta-kinda-maybe-pre-engaged.” Kris is bringing her water up for a drink but stops mid motion. “What does sorta-kinda-maybe-pre-engaged mean?” She looks as shocked as I felt this morning. “Out of the clear blue, Oliver brought up marriage this morning. He told me he wanted to talk about something hard core, and he was afraid I would freak out. All I heard was hard core so my mind immediately assumed he wanted to talk about getting a little bum action.” “Bum action? Good Lord, Addie.” Jill sounds appalled, which doesn’t surprise me at all. I can totally see her being missionary only. Except she’s not even doing it that way. She hasn’t been on one single date since Tommy died. “Anal sex.” Kristin giggles. “That must have been an interesting way to introduce the marriage discussion.” I’m sort of glad it went down the way it did. “It was a little amusing when we realized I was talking about one thing and he was talking about something entirely different. It took some of the pressure off the hot topic.” “He brought it up so what did he have to say about it?” “Says he’s done with empty relationships and flings. He’s ready to pursue a relationship with a woman who wants the same things as he does. Marriage and a family.” I can’t stop my smile as I recall my response. “I told him I wanted those things too. With him.” Kristin covers her mouth with both hands. “Oh my God, Addie. That is like super serious.” “You are totally pre-engaged. There’s no sorta-kinda-maybe about it.” Jill takes my left hand and points to my ring finger. “There’s going to be a diamond on this hand very soon.” Kristin gasps. “What if this Savannah trip is about more than you think? Shit. I bet he’s going to propose to you.” My girls are jumping the gun. Putting the cart before the horse. “I don’t think so.”

Kristin puts on her duh-you-dumbass face. “Why not? You talked about marriage and then he’s taking you out of town a few days later. The timing is perfect.” I know Jill and Kris are excited and want this for me but they’ve got it all wrong. “We planned the trip before we had the marriage discussion.” “Maybe it was a setup. He did it in that order to throw you off. His way of being sure you’ll say yes when he asks. Think about it. This trip is the perfect opportunity; Savannah is so romantic.” Jill is such a dreamer. I am as well to an extent but then reality kicks in. “We both said we’d wait until the time is right. And I don’t see this weekend being it.” “Maybe you agreed to marry when the time is right but what about the engagement part? Did you agree to wait on that?” An engagement and the actual marriage are two different things. “Well . . . no. We didn’t really talk about getting engaged.” Jill hasn’t released my hand. “I’d bet my ass you come back with a ring on this finger.” “Jillie. Our best friend is getting engaged to a man we’ve never met.” “Oh no, she’s not. We’re meeting him. The two of us are coming over tonight so we can be introduced to your fiancé.” Again with the speculation. “He’s not my fiancé.” “Yet. But he will be after this trip to Savannah. I just know it. And you can’t get engaged to a man Kris and I have never met. That’s not right.” They have a point. It isn’t right for my best friends to not know the man I love. “Okay. Then I guess you’re coming over to meet Oliver tonight.”

I PLACE MY PALM TO THE SIDE OF OLIVER’S FACE AND RUB MY THUMB OVER HIS FACIAL HAIR. IT’S A LITTLE longer than his usual scruff. “I like this grown out. You look very handsome.” “Are you sure what I’m wearing is okay? I shouldn’t change into a button-down? I don’t want them to think I’m some kind of thug.” Why would he say that? Nothing about Oliver would scream thug. His nearly black hair is well kept, but even tousled, always looks perfect. His facial scruff is so damn sexy. So masculine. I love running my fingers over it. And those eyes. One glance from those baby blues can saturate my panties.

“You look great. You’re a T-shirt and jeans guy. I wouldn’t want you to meet Jill and Kristin looking like anyone but my Oliver Thorn.” I run my hand over his chest. “I’m pretty sure you weren’t this worked up when you met my parents.” “I wanted your parents to like me but I wasn’t worried about meeting them. Their opinion doesn’t mean shit to you so I knew they couldn’t turn you against me. But these are your two best friends. I know, because of Ivy and Kelsey, that what they think about me will influence you.” “No worries. I adore you so they will too.” How did I deserve such an incredible man so concerned about keeping my heart? The doorbell rings and I go up on tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Showtime. Ready?” “No, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have a choice at this point.” “Be Oliver Thorn and they’ll have no choice but to love you.” I press another quick kiss to his lips, intended to reassure him all will be fine. “Smile. This is going to be painless. You’ll see.” When Jill and Kris enter the house through the front door, I ask, “Why did you come this way?” “It seemed rude to barrel into your kitchen through the garage.” “You don’t think it’s rude when you do it every other time you come to my house.” “This is different. We’re meeting your fiancé.” I flap my arms like a bird trying to take off in flight. “Shh . . . don’t say that. He might hear you.” I swear I will die a thousand deaths if he heard Kris call him that. “He’s already here? There’s not a car in the drive.” “Kris. He lives next door, sweetie. He isn’t going to drive his car to Adelyn’s house.” “Damn. I forgot all about that.” She giggles. “We had a lot of wine last time we were here so that one can’t be held against me.” “Listen, guys. He’s nervous about meeting you. He really wants you to like him so please take it easy.” “Aww, that is so sweet. And so wise. I think I already like him.” Kristin likes everyone, especially guys. She’s not really the one I’m worried about. I grin and make big eyes at Oliver when I lead Jill and Kristin into the living room. “Introductions. Oliver Thorn, this is Kristin.” “It’s so good to finally meet you, Oliver. We’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you from Addie.” “I could say the same about you.” “And this is Jill.” “Very nice to meet you.” Oliver is smiling until he sees the way Jill is staring at him with narrowed eyes. And I immediately know something isn’t right. “Jill, what’s wrong?” Jill looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Addie, how can you not know?” I have no idea what she is talking about. “Know what, Jill?” She’s never been

one to mince words, so the fact she isn’t spitting this out is worrying me. I look back at Oliver, and he is looking at me with the same confusion as I feel. Does he recognize her too? “I don’t know what to say about how this happened, but Oliver was the man in court supporting your brother’s killer. He sat alongside Vance Horton throughout the trial. How can you not remember him?” What the hell? I think back to the very dark time in my life, when I watched the man responsible for Tommy’s death be sentenced to prison. I don’t remember much at all. My heart was still broken beyond repair. “I think you’re mistaking him for someone else. Tell her, Oliver. Tell Jill she’s wrong.” He closes his eyes before covering them with his hand. “Oh, fuck.” What does oh, fuck mean? “Tell her she’s confusing you with someone else.” He takes his hand from his face and grasps my upper arms. “Max.” The tone of his voice says everything I don’t want to hear. “No. Say it isn’t true.” I see in his eyes he can’t do that. “Baby.” “No. I need you to tell me it isn’t true. That you weren’t there supporting my brother’s killer.” Because it isn’t possible I love a man who would do that. “Please let me explain.” He. Was. There. Supporting Vance Horton. “What could you possibly say to explain? What’s a good enough argument to justify why you’d be there on that killer’s behalf?” I feel as though this is a bad dream, and I am yelling as if I have lost touch with reality. How is this happening? “Time out.” Kristin steps between Oliver and me. “Sweetie, Jill and I are going. We don’t need to be here.” I nod in agreement because I don’t want them to be part of this conversation. Especially Jill. “Okay. Yeah.” We stand in the living room, unmoving, neither of us saying a word. A minute passes and it feels like sixty eternities ticking away. Oliver takes a step toward me but I put up my hand. He goes motionless and stares at me. “Don’t come near me.” “Oh, Max. Please don’t.” He is breathing heavily, and his eyes are imploring . . . begging. Begging me for what? Forgiveness? “I don’t know who you are.” My happy world has been yanked from beneath me and I’ve fallen face first into hell. “I’m the man who held you after we made love this morning. The one you say you want to marry. The one you want as a father for your children.” That was only twelve hours ago yet it feels like an eternity ago. And I can’t think about that right now. “I have questions.” “I will answer anything you ask.” His eyes are pleading. “Were you in the courtroom at Vance’s sentencing?” “Yes.” “Do you remember me?”

“No. I don’t recall seeing you once.” I guess I can believe that. I don’t remember seeing him either. But then again, I was pretty jacked on Valium that day. “You were at the sentencing because Vance is your friend?” “Yes.” “You knew my brother was killed by a drunk driver two years ago. You also knew your friend killed someone under the same circumstances. Did you know when we met he was the one who killed Tommy or did you figure it out later and choose to not tell me?” Surely fate couldn’t be this cruel. “I had no idea. I didn’t make the connection until just now. Same as you.” “Vance is still your friend?” “Yes.” “And you visit him at the penitentiary?” “Yes.” This is wrong. “I can’t be with someone who is a friend to my brother’s killer. That’s just completely fucked up.” “The situation leading up to the accident is probably very different from what you were told.” “Nothing excuses what he did, and you can get the fuck out if you think you’re going to convince me otherwise. In fact, I don’t even want to look at you right now. Get out.” “Please don’t.” I’m hurt. Angry. Confused. Feeling betrayed by the man I love. “I don’t want you in my house.” Oliver moves toward me and I launch myself at him, pushing at his chest over and over. “I said get out! Go! I don’t want you here.” Oliver manages to get his arms around my body and subdues me against his chest. “Stop fighting me and listen.” Wrapped in his arms, feeling his warmth, hearing his deep, soothing voice, somehow I feel less . . . less desolate. He’s a friend to my brother’s killer. He protected you from Martin. He visits the man who destroyed my life. Jill’s life. He wanted my friends to love him because he loves me. Wants me. Despite all of these volatile thoughts, I lean into him. How can I feel calm in his arms? “I understand you need time to absorb this so I’m going.” He kisses the top of my head. “I strongly suspect you’re going to question your love for me in the very imminent future, but do not question my love for you. You are my world. My everything.” He releases me and holds my face. “The only reason I’m leaving is because it’s what you want. I hate to leave you like this, but I have to go to this meeting in Macon. I’m tempted to come back to you afterward, but I know that’s not what you want right now. I’ll go to Savannah as planned. You need time to think without distraction from me, but we’ll have to talk about this after I come home.”

He closes his eyes and kisses my forehead. “I love you, Max. We will work this out.” I love you too. But he’s wrong. I don’t think we can work this out at all. I will not—cannot—embrace a man who considers himself a friend of my brother’s killer. I cannot be with a man whose compassion lies with a man who took my brother’s life. When I left Martin, I was physically broken, and injured in too many places to count from his parting gift. As I watch Oliver walk out of my house, I feel as though my heart is completely breaking into a thousand pieces. Only this time, I am not sure I will actually heal. This time, I may remain broken.

Oliver Thorn

THREE DAYS AND THREE NIGHTS AWAY FROM MY ADELYN. I’VE SENT HER A TEXT EVERY NIGHT SINCE OUR fight, each closing with the same words. I miss you and I love you. Not a single reply. Agony. I hadn’t any clue Vance was related to her brother’s death. How could I have known? I can understand Jill’s reaction to me, her instant distrust. She lost her fiancé. But I can’t lose Adelyn over this. I can’t stay away another minute. I need to see my girl. I have to know we’re okay. I didn’t want to leave her. But she needed time to calm down so she’d be able to listen to what I’m saying when I explain about Vance. If there was anything I learned from my dad it was to give a woman you love space to think. “They are smart, incredible beings, Ollie. When you have earned the love of a woman, when they are emotional, back away and wait. Let them work through the many facets of a situation that we mere males have no clue about. Then take the time to listen and wait your chance to talk.” She wasn’t in a place where she was capable of hearing or processing anything I had to say three days ago. I’m hoping tonight will be different. I need tonight to be different. The last time we spoke, she wasn’t in a place where she was capable of hearing anything I had to say. I’m hoping tonight will be different. I’m at the patio door about to knock when I see her in the kitchen. And all her cooking supplies spread across the island. Oh shit. She’s baking. Because of me. And that kills me. She jumps and whirls around when I tap on the glass. She shakes her head from side to side when she registers it’s me. “No. Go away.” I barely hear her voice through the door. I tap again but she refuses to look my way. “We need to talk.” I say the words loudly; I need to know she hears them. She ignores me as though I don’t exist. “Please. I have things to tell you. I truly believe you’ll understand everything when I’m done explaining.” Nothing. No response at all. In fact, she leaves the kitchen altogether so I can’t

see her from the patio door. I check the knob and it’s locked. No surprise there so I take out my phone and send a series of pleas. It’s been 3 days. You can’t ignore me forever. We have to talk about this. Please, Max. I love you. Leave me alone. Well, at least I got a response. Not the one I want, but it’s better than being ignored. Adelyn doesn’t know the whole story about Vance or why I stood by his side. Until she understands, she isn’t going to forgive me. I’ll be considered the enemy. I’ll lose her. I can’t let this continue to fester. What I’m contemplating may be the worst move I could make with Adelyn. But she’s refusing to see or talk to me. I don’t feel like she’s giving me much of a choice. I take out her house key and do what will either be the best or worst thing for our relationship. I unlock the door and let myself into her house. She’s nowhere in sight. I hear a creak in the floor above me. Bedroom. Good. That’s where I want her. Saves me from throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her up there. I’m in the house and I’m coming up. I give her a heads-up because I don’t want to scare the shit out of her by popping into her bedroom unannounced. “Don’t you dare come up here, Thorn.” I’m standing in the doorway when my name leaves her mouth. “Get out now.” “No. You’re talking to me. Or at least listening.” “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.” She’s already changed for bed. T-shirt and panties. Two items more than what she’s worn to bed every night since we’ve been together. “Don’t look at me like that. You can forget it.” Her nipples are hard and poking the fabric of her shirt. Of my shirt. She’s wearing one of my Lovibonds. Who knew they could be so fucking sexy? “I know. I’m not here for that.” I march toward her, ready for a fight, and she

doesn’t disappoint. “No. Stop.” She jumps on the bed on all fours and attempts to crawl away but I catch her around the waist. I pull her beneath me and lie on top of her. “No, Max. You won’t listen to me so I have no other choice than to make you.” She bucks but I wrap my body around her, restraining her so she’s unable to move. “You made me your man. I may not control you anywhere else, but I do in this bedroom. You gave me that power. You insisted I dominate you because it’s what you like and want. This is me exerting my power over you. You don’t get to turn it off because it doesn’t suit you at the moment.” She stops struggling but I continue to hold her tightly. “This is who we are, Max. Because it’s who you made us. Who you asked me to be for us. I control. You submit.” She’s breathing heavily. I’m not sure if it’s an aftermath of our physical struggle or because she’s turned-on. Maybe both. But right now isn’t about fucking. “It’s so peculiar how the events of a single night more than two years ago could lead to this conversation.” I loosen my hold and roll us on our sides so Adelyn’s back is pressed to my front. “Get comfortable. This isn’t a short story.” Adelyn adjusts and doesn’t pull her hand away when I lace my fingers through hers. I feel reassured. She believes in us. My anxiety is eased . . . a little. I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss the top. “You know I went through a bad spell after Eden. I partied and went through women. It was all in an effort to get her betrayal off my mind. I hate saying that to you, but it’s just how it was at the time.” “You don’t hate saying it more than I hate hearing it.” Finally. Words other than get out or leave me alone. “You know how I behaved; what I didn’t tell you about was the night it all came to a screeching halt. The night things were put into a completely different perspective for me.” Adelyn’s body relaxes against mine. Finally. “I was out partying with friends who weren’t really my friends at all. I ended up somewhere I didn’t want to be. Eden’s bed. I’m not sure what happened. Maybe we fucked. Maybe we didn’t. I have no idea. The only thing I know for sure is I wanted the hell out of her house and away from her. So I got in my truck and started for home. I was one mile from my condo when I saw the blue lights. One fucking mile. That’s where they got me.” “Who got you?” “The highway patrol. The officer who pulled me over said a concerned citizen had called in to report a drunk driver in a vehicle matching my truck. I’m pretty sure that concerned citizen was a pissed-off whore who woke to an empty bed. Of course, I have no proof of that. But I was given the typical field sobriety test. The one-leg stand and the walk-and-turn test. I passed both. But I failed the gaze test. I was taken down to the station where I also failed a blood alcohol content test. I barely failed, Adelyn. It was crazy close but it was still a fail so I was charged with

DUI.” I wait a moment, waiting for her to respond, but she doesn’t. “As you can guess, a DUI charge doesn’t look great for Lovibond. So under the advisement of my attorney, I voluntarily entered a thirty-day substance abuse rehab center. And before you ask, the answer is no. I am not nor have I ever been an addict or alcoholic. My decision was about the company, my business partners, and employees. I did what I felt was best for all of them. And that’s where I met Vance Horton three years ago.” “A year before he killed Tommy.” “Vance was nineteen with his first DUI. The kid wasn’t an alcoholic but a judge said he either complete the program or serve jail time. His choice. So he went with the thirty-day program.” “We had group together every day for a month. I couldn’t not notice how tightlipped he was. Always so quiet. Never shared a word about himself, but I saw something in him. Something so familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on it for a while but then I figured it out. He was me. The nineteen-year-old version of me had I not been taken away from Jimmy and Christie. I got to know Vance over the coming weeks and was right. His home life was nearly identical to mine as a child. The difference was I got out and he didn’t. “I felt this odd connection to him and I wanted to help the guy. He was already nineteen but I wanted to do for him what someone had done for me when I was six. So I did. I helped him get away from his parental version of Jimmy and Christie. I gave him a job. Found him a place to stay. He was doing really good. Had a pretty little girlfriend, Toni. They already had a baby daughter. Almost two years old. I was a little irritated when he got her pregnant again only two months after getting on his feet. I thought he should have exercised more responsibility, but he was happy about having his own family so I decided I should be too. I was proud of how far he’d come in such a short period of time.” “They did great for nine months. Until his parents came back into the picture. They said they had nowhere to go. Made Vance feel guilty about leaving them on the streets so he let them move into his apartment. It was supposed to be for a week. But that turned into two weeks and then another two. That’s how it is with addicts. A vicious cycle that never ends. It became a big problem between him and Toni. As you can imagine, she didn’t want heroin addicts living in her house with her daughter. But she also didn’t like Vance’s dad. Said he made her uncomfortable. Turns out she had every right to feel that way. About six weeks after they moved in, Vance’s dad raped Toni.” “While she was pregnant? Oh, God. That’s horrible.” “Vance made his parents leave, but as you can imagine, the damage was already done. Toni couldn’t stay in the place where she was assaulted. She blamed Vance because he was the one to bring his father into their lives. So she left with Willow and wouldn’t let Vance see her. When he lost them, his life unraveled. He went on a month-long drunk. I sat back for a while and watched. I thought he might get it

together on his own but he didn’t. I took it upon myself to help him get straightened out again. And he was. He was steering his life back between the lines. Again, I was proud of him for how far he’d come.” “But then that Sunday afternoon came.” She knows the one I mean. “Vance was at home watching the race. He’d had several beers when he got a call from Toni telling him Willow had been admitted to the hospital with a severe case of meningitis. He panicked, as any father who loves his child would, and got behind the wheel to go to her. He was on his way to his sick daughter when he ran that red light and hit your brother.” She shudders in my arms as she sucks air into her lungs, the tears a thief, stealing her steady breath. “Toni went into labor when she was told about the accident. So there she was. A critically ill baby in the hospital and another one on the way. She had no one she could depend on but me. So I stepped in and stayed with Willow in the hospital while she gave birth to their second daughter, Keeley.” “I was never told the circumstances,” she whispers between agonizing sobs. “I know. They didn’t tell you that part at the sentencing. They spoke about Vance like he was some kind of repeat offender, a monster who got into a car after drinking without any regard for humanity. But that wasn’t the case at all. He was scared for his daughter, and in a state of panic, made a mistake. His error cost your brother his life.” Adelyn shudders against me, her sobs louder. “Vance’s life has been little more than one bad circumstance after another. The same as mine would have been if I’d not been taken from Jimmy and Christie. I don’t defend Vance getting behind the wheel of his car after drinking several beers. I wasn’t in that courtroom to rally for your brother’s killer. I was there to stick by a man who under some of the ugliest fucking circumstances was trying to be a loving and caring daddy to his little girl. I was standing by a man who was trying to be a better person despite being born into one of the worst situations imaginable.” “I visit Vance in prison because he needs to know there’s one person in the world who hasn’t given up on him. I gave Toni a job in the warehouse. The little girls you played with in Molly’s office are Willow and Keeley. Those kids are deeply rooted in my life. Actually Vance and Toni are as well. They aren’t going anywhere. So you have a decision to make. Do you still want me, or will you end us over this?” This was a lot for Adelyn to hear at once. Everything she thought she knew about Vance has been proven wrong. She’s going to need time to absorb it. “I understand you need to think about this, but I want to tell you something before I go. I’ve never been as miserable as I’ve been the last three days. Being apart from you confirmed how much I love you. I want and need you in my life so much. I don’t want to go back to being the man I was before you.” I kiss the back of her head. “You are mine, Max. And I am yours. My connection to Vance shouldn’t change that but ultimately the decision is yours.” I release my hold on her and get up from the bed. “I hope you still love me, Max. I am not asking you to forgive Vance Horton, but I am asking you to forgive me for

how you think I have wronged you.”

“CHARLOTTE JUST CALLED. SHE SAID CHRISTIE DIED ABOUT AN HOUR AGO.” “Did that bad case of kidney failure finally get her?” I still can’t believe Lawry was considering giving that horrid woman one of her kidneys. “Oliver.” “It’s a legit question.” “I didn’t ask.” “No need when neither of us gives a shit.” I wait to be scolded by my sister for saying such a thing about a dead woman but she doesn’t. Surprising. “The McCollums want us to come to the funeral.” Bullshit. Jimmy and Christie’s people haven’t seen us in twenty-four years. “The family wants us to come to the funeral or Jimmy wants us to come so we’ll foot the bill?” “We both know we’ll be hit up for the money, but she was our birth mother and now she’s dead.” Good riddance is what I’m thinking but I keep those words to myself. Lawry’s too soft-hearted to agree with me here. “What do you want to do?” “She was a shitty mother but she raised me for ten years and you for six. I think we should go. Not for her but for us. I think it could be therapeutic.” Therapeutic? Lawry is always talking about this and that being therapeutic. It’s been twentyfour years since we were with them. I sort of feel like I’m done needing therapy over the shit they did to us. “I’ll go for you. No other reason.” “Charlotte said they’d wait on us before making arrangements.” Of course. We’re paying. “It’s a little late to leave tonight.” “I definitely don’t want to drive it now. I just got home from Savannah two hours ago.” “It killed me to not call you this weekend. I’m dying to hear about your romantic weekend with Adelyn. Did she love everything I planned?” She finally has a smile on her face and I have to take that away. Fuck my life. “Didn’t happen.” “What didn’t happen?” “The romantic weekend getaway. I went alone.”

There’s her what the actual fuck? face. “Alone? Why?” “Long story, sis. I’m tired and don’t feel like talking about it right now.” “Okay. I guess you’ll have the whole drive to Savannah tomorrow to explain.” I’m relieved she isn’t pushing for answers now. “What time do you want to leave? ’Bout seven?” “I’m not in a hurry to get behind the wheel for that long. Let’s say eight.” Maybe I can get an extra hour of sleep. That is if I’m able to sleep at all. “Brou can drive. He doesn’t mind.” “I will not argue with him about that.” “All right. We’ll be over around eight.” Christie’s death drags a lot of childhood memories to the surface of my brain. Heinous things I haven’t thought about in years. I pretend they don’t bother me. But they do. I tell Lawry I’m fine. And I am sometimes. But not always. Who wouldn’t be fucked up to some degree by the way Jimmy and Christie treated us? Mom and Dad are the best. Our life with them has helped erase a lot of what we suffered. But not everything. I don’t need this shit on my plate while I’m trying to work things out with Adelyn. I don’t need her seeing me like this. So she won’t. And she won’t know about Christie until I’m back on the off chance she wants to be by my side for support. I never want her mixed up with the McCollums.

Adelyn Maxwell

I CAN ONLY RECALL ONE TIME IN MY LIFE WHEN I’VE BEEN UNHAPPIER. THE DAY I LOST TOMMY. But it was a different kind of unhappiness from what I’m feeling now. My brother was taken from me in the blink of an eye. I didn’t get to say goodbye. No opportunity for final words. One minute he was fine. The next, he wasn’t. And it was all because of one stranger’s stupid decision. Except now I know Tommy’s death wasn’t the result of one mistake by a single person. That accident resulted after a long series of bad circumstances, not all of them the fault of Vance Horton. Have I spent all this time and energy hating a man who might not deserve it? I didn’t get to decide if I lost Tommy or not. But I have a choice about losing Oliver. And I choose to not let him go. I’ve been to Oliver’s house four times since Monday. His truck and motorcycle have been home for two days without moving but there’s no sign of him. Something isn’t right. I’ve been holding off calling or texting. I wanted our reunion to be spoiler-free. I want him to see me, see my expression, and know why I’ve come to him. I had hoped that would happen at his house. I wanted to run into his arms and then take things upstairs. But it looks like I’ll be settling for a brewery reunion and maybe a romp on the sofa instead. “Hey, Molly. How are you?” “Doing pretty good. Busy as usual. How are you?” “I’m good. Great, actually.” The best I’ve been in days. “I see you brought more goodies.” I had to. I’ve baked like a lunatic this weekend. And I’ve run out of neighbors willing to take the sweets off my hands. “Yeah. I was in a baking mood this weekend. I get like that sometimes.” I put the plastic container on Molly’s desk. “Do you mind seeing if Oliver is busy?” “Oh.” A peculiar expression crosses her face. “He’s not here, honey. He left for Savannah yesterday morning with Lawrence and Tap.” I knew it. Something is wrong. The three of them wouldn’t have gone home for

no reason. “What happened?” “Lawrence and Oliver’s mother passed away Sunday night.” Oh, God. No. No. Not Libby. Oliver must be in agony. Oh, Lawrence. She’s lost her mom. “Was she in an accident?” Libby seemed so healthy and active. I can’t imagine her dying from some kind of health complication. Oliver never mentioned her being sick. “I’m not sure. All I know is Tap called Porter first thing Monday morning to let us know they’d be out for a few days.” I can’t believe Oliver’s mother is dead. He didn’t call you, Adelyn. He didn’t reach out to you. That says so much about how badly I’ve hurt him. I’ve been a mean, spiteful bitch. And now I’m paying for it. Oliver’s in pain. I should be with him in Savannah at a time like this, not in another state. This is our first major life-changing event as a couple and I’ve failed him. I’m fucking sick with myself. Molly knows Oliver and I are together. She must be wondering why he’d leave without telling me something so important. “We had an argument. A pretty terrible one and it was all my fault.” “It’s not my business, honey.” “Maybe not, but I wanted you to know Oliver didn’t do wrong. It was me.” “Honey, I know Oliver. Things will be fine.” “I hope so.” I desperately hope so. Has he given up on me? I look at my watch. Ten after one, which means ten after two there. The funeral is probably happening as we speak. “I should wait on calling in case they’re having afternoon services.” A whirl of brown curls races into the room and propels herself into Molly’s arms. Willow. “Molly!” “Ah, there’s my girl.” Willow crawls into Molly’s lap. “Did you have a good day at preschool?” “Yes, ma’am.” “What did you learn?” “Umm . . . I don’t know.” “Doesn’t sound like you learned much if you don’t know.” “Mmm . . . August.” “You learned your months of the year?” The cutie shrugs. “I guess.” Molly looks at me and winks. “First week of preschool.” Willow laughs when she’s poked in the ribs. “Do you know what month comes after August?” “September.” “Yes, and who has a birthday in September?” “Meee.”

“That’s right. And how old will you be?” “Four.” Willow is such a beautiful little girl. Long brown curls. Vivid blue eyes. Just like her dad. Vance had the same vivid blue. And I hated them. Thought they were monstrous. Haunting. I squat so I’m on Willow’s level. “What kind of party do you want?” “Princess.” “Pink?” “Yes, ma’am.” She’s been taught manners. “I love pink princess parties. Bet you didn’t know that’s what I do. I’m sort of like a fairy godmother. You tell me what you want at your party and I make it happen.” “Like Cinderella?” “A little. Would you like me to talk to your mom about having a big pink princess party for your birthday?” “Yes, ma’am.” “I’ll do that for you.” I see her eyeing the cupcakes so I gesture toward the container. “Want one?” “Yes, ma’am.” I offered the cupcake without considering if it’ll be okay with Toni. “Will her mom mind?” “She can have one. That’s fine.” The voice comes from behind me. I turn to see who I presume is Toni standing at the time machine punching her card. “Oh, hi. I’m Adelyn. Oliver’s girlfriend.” “I’m Toni. I work in the warehouse. That’s my daughter, Willow.” It isn’t possible Toni’s more than twenty-one or two but she looks at least fifteen years older. Life hasn’t been kind to this woman. “Where’s Keeley?” Molly asks. “Frankee has the afternoon off so she took her for me.” Lovibond family. It’s real and it exists. “Willow tells me she wants a pink princess party for her birthday next month.” “I’m sure she does. And I’d love for her to have one but big parties are expensive.” I’ll foot every penny of this little girl’s party without blinking but I don’t want to cue Toni to who I am. “Oliver said he and I would work something out if you say it’s okay for her to have it.” Toni shakes her head. “That man is too good to us.” “He is a very good man who wants Willow to have the princess party of her dreams. So what do you say?” “How could I refuse my baby girl a birthday party?” “Great. I’ll be in touch in a couple of weeks and we’ll work out the details.” “Thank you. That’s really nice.” Toni holds out her hand for Willow. “Come on, knucklehead. We gotta let Molly get back to work.” I wave at Willow when she turns back to look at me. “Bye.”

“That was awfully nice of you.” “Does Willow always come to work with Toni?” A beer brewery doesn’t seem like a proper place for a child. Or safe. “Not usually. Her babysitter quit on her a few weeks ago. She has to bring the girls until she can find a replacement. But the boys know.” I like how Molly refers to Oliver, Lucas, and Porter as the boys. “Stout turned a storage room into a playroom for them. He was afraid they might get hurt in the warehouse.” “It’s definitely no place for children.” “No way he’d risk anything happening to those little girls. He’s crazy about them.” “I see that.” “Those boys took one of their Saturdays off to paint the room pink and childproof it. Then they filled it with brand new toys. Better than any daycare I’ve seen.” I can visualize the three of them rolling pink paint on the walls while drinking beer. “That is precious.” “Oliver’s going to make a great father one day.” “I’m seeing that too.” I really want my—our—kids to have him as their daddy. “Those three were so hard a few years ago. Brutes wouldn’t be a bad word choice to describe them. But now . . . they’re so different. Softened in all the right ways. You’d be a smart girl to latch on to him before some other woman gets her hooks in.” “Don’t worry. I have every intention.” I’m going to hold on to Oliver Thorn and never let go.

I’VE CALLED OLIVER OVER AND OVER. NO ANSWER. I’VE TEXTED MULTIPLE TIMES. NO RESPONSE. AND I’M scared. Terrified I’ve messed up far more than I originally thought. I thought we were okay. I love you, baby. We will work this out. Those were his last words to me. So why aren’t we working it out? Why isn’t he taking my calls or replying to my messages? There’s only one thing to do. Find out what’s happening through Lawrence. Please call me when you can: I’m worried about Oliver.

He isn’t taking my calls or answering my texts. Lawrence’s reply is almost instantaneous. 5 mins. Need to get away first. Get away from who? Oliver? The fact she needs to get away from anyone worries me. What the hell is going on in Savannah? I answer the phone on the first ring. “Lawrence, hey.” “Hey.” “I’m so sorry to hear about your mother. I absolutely adored Libby.” I tear up saying the words. I’m so sad I won’t have a chance to know their mom better. “Mom’s fine.” What? “Molly told me your mother died.” “Our birth mom.” Oh. Thank God it wasn’t Libby. I obviously don’t know the full story, but I’m so glad it wasn’t Libby. I don’t know how Oliver would cope with that loss. But he still hasn’t responded to me. Are we okay? “Oliver’s ignoring my calls and texts.” “I promise he’s not ignoring you. There’s been a lot going on. It’s been a complete shit show from the moment we got here. These people are out of their fucking minds. Certifiably crazy.” It’s bad if Lawrence is saying that. She never says anything unkind. “He didn’t tell me anything. He just left without a word.” I know we were in the middle of a fight, or whatever you want to call it, but it still hurts. “We talked on the way down. Ollie knew you’d insist on coming if he told you our birth mother died. Trust me, he did right by not letting you get involved in this. I wish I weren’t.” “He should have told me.” No. He wasn’t sure if I still loved him. He couldn’t tell me. How did I ever doubt the magnitude of his love? “Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have insisted on coming if you knew?” “No. I would have wanted to be there for him every step of the way.” “That’s why he didn’t tell you. Rather than risk you coming, he thought it better to ask your forgiveness after it’s all said and done. Please don’t be angry with him.” I don’t know what I am right now. A part of me is hurt but then there’s another part who likes that he went to such extreme measures to protect me. Again. “Well, I know now so tell him to call me. I want to talk to him.” “Yeah . . . that’s gonna be a problem considering Oliver’s in jail.” Shit. “What happened?” “Long story and it’s one for him to tell. Not me. But Brou’s down at the station seeing what he can do to get him out. Hopefully he won’t have to stay overnight.” My gut tells me Jimmy was involved. God, I hope Oliver didn’t finish what he

started twelve years ago. “I’m coming.” “That’s exactly what he doesn’t want.” “I don’t care. I love him and I’m coming.” There’s no way I’m sitting here while he’s going through hell. “I strongly advise against that, Adelyn. Oliver loves you so much. He doesn’t want these toxic people in your life.” Those toxic people are a part of his life. That means they’re a part of my life. “I’ll call when I make it to Savannah. You can tell me then if I should go to your parents’ house or the jail.” “He’s going to lose his shit when you show up here.” Shit. I already know there are no direct flights to Savannah. Flying won’t get me any faster than driving. With the layover and early arrival to check in, maybe even longer. “I’ve gotta pack a bag but I’ll be quick. I should be there around midnight.” “We’ll be looking for you. I’ll text if he’s released before you get here. And I’ll text my parents’ address. That’s where we’ll be staying tonight. There’s highway construction on this side of Macon so be careful.” “I will. See you soon.”

QUENTIN AND LIBBY MEET ME AT THE FRONT DOOR WHEN I ARRIVE AT THEIR HOME. “Adelyn. Come here, sweet girl.” Libby takes me in her arms, squeezing tightly. “It is such a pleasure to finally have you in our home.” “I’m not sure Oliver is going to feel the same when he figures out I’m here.” I was feeling so brave in Birmingham but I’m not as confident now that I’m in Savannah. Especially after an exhausting drive. Libby is happy I’m here. She’s all smiles. “We’ll put him out in the shed if he complains.” “Or send him back to the jailhouse.” Quentin laughs. It eases my mind to hear Oliver’s father make a joke about his arrest. I hope that means the charges aren’t too serious if they’re laughing about it. Lawrence and Tap are in the living room when we enter. “God, I’m glad you made it. I’ve been worried about you driving alone on that stretch of construction. It’s a little dangerous during the day so I can only imagine what it must be like at night.” “It wasn’t that bad but it did slow me down.” I’m here about an hour later than I

anticipated. “Where’s Oliver?” “Shower. That’s the first thing he wanted when he walked through the door.” “So, he just got here?” “Yeah. About five minutes before you.” “I believe you’d call that perfect timing.” “I think so too.” Libby offers a follow me wave. “Come on, sweetie. You should be in his room when he gets out of the shower. It’ll be a nice surprise for him after the last two days.” Lawrence moves to get off the sofa. “It’s after one so we’re going to bed. We’ll see y’all at breakfast.” She points finger guns at me. “Good luck to you, sista.” “Thanks.” I follow Libby down the hall to Oliver’s room. “I’m very happy you came. Despite what Oliver thinks, he needs you.” I dread his wrath. “He’s going to be angry with me for coming.” “Probably but it’ll be short-lived. Give him a little and he’ll get over it.” Give him a little? “My son has been cooped up in jail with strange men for hours. I’m certain he’ll gladly welcome any female affection you offer.” Liberal Libby is encouraging me to have relations with her son. Under her roof. Any concerns I was entertaining about that being disrespectful are no longer in question. I love him, and tonight I will make sure he knows he is all I’ll ever want. My answer will be yes. Yes, I can see the bigger picture and love him even more for his care of Vance and his family.

Oliver Thorn

I MEET MOM IN THE HALL ON MY WAY OUT OF THE BATHROOM. “ENJOY THE REST OF YOUR NIGHT.” Enjoy the rest of my night? Maybe that’s code for be happy your ass is at home instead of jail. And what’s with her tone? It’s awfully cheerful. Maybe she’s trying to make me not feel so bad about spending the afternoon and most of the night in the slammer. That’s Libby Thorn. Always positive. Always trying to make the other person feel better. It’s one of the reasons I love her so much. “G’night. Love you, Mom.” She stops and hugs me, kissing the side of my face. “Love you, my sweet boy. I’m proud of you.” Proud seems like an odd word choice after the shitstorm day we’ve had. “Proud I spent the evening in jail?” “Yes. I’m damn proud.” “Well, that only makes one of us because sitting in that cell made me feel like I should still be Oliver McCollum.” “You are NOT a McCollum. You are one of us. A Thorn. You have been for twenty-four years.” Mom is smiling. Big. Not sure what to make of it. “See you at breakfast. Maybe. Unless you sleep in.” Not possible. “You know I don’t sleep in.” “It’s been a long night. And it’s not over yet.” “It’s over for me ’cause I’m crashing.” Dealing with those damn McCollums for two days, especially Jimmy, has been exhausting. “I guess we’ll see.” I’m considering the odd conversation with my mom when I enter my bedroom. And it all suddenly makes sense when I see who is sitting on my bed. “Hi.” I stand in the doorway looking at her. My Max. Trying to decide if I want to run to her and pull her into my arms or throw her over my knee and spank her ass hard. And then kiss it. “Please don’t be mad.” She stands, her hands fidgeting in a knot as she chews her bottom lip. Looks so nervous. I step inside and close my bedroom door. It’s the only invitation she needs to

propel herself into my arms. “Oliver. I just . . . I love you and I want to be with you during times like this. I long for you to need me by your side. I don’t want to be left behind without a single word about what’s happening. Good or bad.” I’ve been locked up like an animal most of the day, forced to look at white painted cement blocks and lowlifes with no concern for humanity. But now I have my girl. She’s so soft and sweet-smelling. And has just told me she loves me and wants to be by my side during bad times. There’s nothing I want more than to lose myself in her, the woman I love so much it hurts. “Max . . . everything about the last couple of days qualifies as bad. Especially today.” We move to sit on the foot of my bed but she never releases my hand. “Tell me what happened. Why did they put you in jail?” I hadn’t planned on Adelyn knowing about my arrest. “I had just left your house Sunday night when Christie’s sister called and told us she had died.” “What happened to her?” “We heard a few different stories. Lawry and I agree it’s likely drug related since we can’t get a clear answer from anyone.” Don’t know. Don’t really care. “The McCollums didn’t give a shit if we came to the funeral or not. They called Lawry because they didn’t have the money to bury the woman. They knew they could guilt her daughter with the soft heart into paying. Which they did. I didn’t get the call because I have no heart when it comes to Jimmy and Christie. But I’d never let Lawry solely pay for Christie’s funeral. So yeah. I got fucked on this deal.” “It’s sad anyone would take advantage of Lawry’s kindness.” “That’s the kind of people they are. When we got to the funeral home, the McCollums were true to form. They were all either drunk or high. Belligerent. Antagonistic. Especially Jimmy. That son of a bitch started taunting me the minute I got there. It went on all day yesterday. It about killed me but I put up with his shit for Lawry. And then today . . . when I’d had enough, I’d had enough.” “What did you do?” “The funeral was over and we were leaving. I was so close. So close to never seeing those people again. And Jimmy couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t resist poking me for a fight one last time.” “In the funeral home?” “Yes. The bastard grabbed my mom by the arm and said, ‘Hey, you, uppity bitch. How does it feel to know you couldn’t have your own kids so you stole mine and raised them to be assholes just like you and your husband?’” “What a horrible thing to say.” That was nowhere near my reaction. The motherfucker. My hands clench as I think about it. “My mom was there to pay respect to her children’s birth mother. Made Dad bring her home early from their trip so she could be there. For us. Because that’s the kind of woman she is. Neither Christie nor Jimmy are worthy of an ounce of respect.”

“I’m pretty sure I can guess what happened next.” “He put his hands on my mom and that was it for me. I went after him.” Shit got real in that funeral home. “How bad is it? The legal repercussions.” “Turns out they frown pretty hard upon people fighting in funeral homes. I’ll probably have to pay a hefty fine. And I could be on probation for a while. Not sure yet.” “So I’m dating a fine-ass convict with a rap sheet? That’s pretty hot.” She seems more sure than me about where we are. “Are we dating? ’Cause the last time I saw you I basically broke into your house and physically restrained you so you’d listen to what I had to say.” Adelyn leans over and kisses my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. For two years, all I have felt since Tommy’s death was hatred. To lose him so young, so full of life and a future, to watch Jill endure year after year of pain . . . I’ve missed him so much. I hadn’t even considered that Vance wasn’t the monster he’d been painted to be. Please forgive me for the things I said about you. To you. If anything, how you cared for him, stood by his side, supported his family by providing work, it only made me love you more. You were right to stand by him.” I hadn’t needed Adelyn to see me as a hero. I had given her an ultimatum, knowing how intrinsically good her heart was. Hoping she would choose us. “You’re here.” “I am here and I choose love. I choose us. I choose you.” Thank. Fuck. She leans over, grabs the back of my head, and kisses me until we’re both breathless. “I’m yours, Oliver Thorn, and you are mine. Nothing is going to change that.” She reaches for the corner of the towel wrapped around my waist and tugs. Her grin is wicked. Her eyes, hooded and lustful, as she watches the towel fall to the floor. “Your mom told me you’d forgive me if I’d give you a little. I’d like to test that theory.” I hear the words give you a little and my cock is instantly hard. Suddenly, the last forty-eight hours of shit lose their importance. My girl loves me. “I can forgive about anything if it means I get inside your pussy.” “That mouth, Thorn.” Adelyn pulls her shirt over her head while I yank open her shorts and lower the zipper. “I can’t believe Libby told me to fornicate with you. My mother would die before recommending I do something like that.” I think Rachel has led Adelyn to believe she was something other than what she really was. A normal teenager. “Actually your dad popped your mom’s cherry before her eighteenth birthday.” “What?” I push her shorts and panties down her legs. “Brother Maxwell ain’t no saint, baby.” “How do you know that?”

“Lift.” I tap Adelyn on the ankle so she’ll pick up her foot. “He told me he banged your mom before they were married.” “Why would my Baptist preacher father tell you that?” “He was making a point that he’d been in my shoes and he understood how badly I wanted to fuck you.” “I highly doubt that’s how he put it.” I laugh as I recall how uncomfortable I’d been during that conversation. “No. But he was very right. I wanted to fuck you and he knew it. So he made a plea for your heart. He asked me to not break it. But he also pleaded for your virtue. He asked me to not ruin you for the man who’d want to take you as his wife.” Adelyn climbs onto my lap. My cock pokes straight up between her legs and touches her stomach. “That’s just like Daddy to think I’m a virgin.” “He asked me to not defile you when five minutes prior you had sucked my dick and swallowed my cum. I can’t lie. I felt kinda bad about it.” My girl is hovering above my cock, which is dying to be inside her hot body. As if sensing my need, Adelyn rises and positions the tip of my dick at her entrance before sinking down on it hard and deep. “I like when you defile me.” Fuck, that feels good. I haven’t been inside her in almost a week. Way. Too. Long. She rides me up and down. Fast and then slow. Rolling her hips one direction and then the other. Home. Max is my home. She grasps my shoulders and leans backward to thrust her hips harder. Deeper. “Submission isn’t enough. I want more from you, Max.” So much more and I’m not sure you’re ready for that degree of submission. She locks her arms around my shoulders and rolls hers hips until she’s filled with my cum and completely satiated by her own orgasm. We fall breathless onto the bed side by side, facing one another. She strokes her thumb down my cheek. “I’ll give you anything you want.” “What if I want to give you something?” “Then I’ll take whatever it is you want to give me.” I smile because she has no idea what I’m talking about. “I want to give you my name.” There’s a moment when she doesn’t realize what I’m asking. And then there’s a moment when she does. But in between the two, there’s a split second where I get to watch her comprehension come full circle. And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Be my wife, Max. Marry me.” Shit. She’s just staring at me. No response. Have I fucked up by asking too soon? “I know this is quick. We’ve only known each other three months and we said we’d wait until the time is right and—” “Shh.” She covers my mouth with her fingers. “Yes.” “Yes? Too soon? We need to wait? Or, you’ll marry me?” “Yes, I will marry you.”

Fuck, yes. She’s gonna be my wife. I roll on top of Adelyn and kiss the hell out of her. “Adelyn Thorn. Sounds good.” “Yes, it does.” And I then make love to my fiancée. My. Fiancée. Twists and turns of fate. Although sometimes small, those are the little wonders forming our lives. A house went on the market, bringing Adelyn and I together as neighbors. Two strangers. Except we weren’t strangers at all. Our paths were not crossing for the first time. And that once seemingly insignificant intersection of our lives suddenly became a pivotal moment in our futures. It had the potential to become one of two things: a wrecking ball to tear us apart or the cohesion to bond us together forever. We choose together forever.

Epilogue ADELYN MAXWELL

One year later I’M THE OWNER OF BASH INCORPORATED. I’VE ORGANIZED SOME OF THE BIGGEST WEDDINGS AND extravagant receptions in Birmingham. Hell, in Alabama. Even a few in the surrounding states. My wedding has been planned for years, long before I met Oliver. I had it all mapped out. Every. Little. Detail. A historic manor. Elaborate theme. Two dozen attendants. All the intricate elements required to impress the elite. The only thing missing was the groom. Such. Bull. Shit. All of it. A barn. Fifty guests. My daddy to officiate. I’m ready to say “I do” to my handsome groom. So ready. “Remember what we practiced, Willow? You’re going to walk down the middle of the barn holding Keeley’s hand.” “I get to drop the petals this time?” Her small voice is so sweet. “Yes. And when you get to the end, you’ll both stand next to Lawrence.” My God, they are so adorable in their white tutu dresses. I don’t think I could stand it if they were any cuter. I know putting a five- and three-year-old in my wedding is a risk. It could all go to shit in under a second but I don’t care. I’ve come to love Willow and Keeley dearly. I couldn’t imagine them not being part of our big day. The girls start down the aisle and Patty, the wedding planner, turns to look at me. Yes, even I need a wedding planner. I couldn’t do everything and enjoy being the bride. “So far, so good. Keep your fingers crossed.” They make it halfway to the bridal canopy before Keeley spots her daddy and takes off running for him. “Well, there goes one.” All I can do is laugh. “It was a fifty-fifty shot with that child.” I promised them ponies at their next birthday parties if they did well in the wedding. But who am I kidding? They’re getting ponies, or anything else they want,

regardless of today. I go completely overboard for those precious girls. There were two things that needed to happen before Oliver and I could be married. First, he needed to ask my daddy for my hand. Check. And I had to accept Vance as part of Oliver’s life. Part of my life. Nothing about it has been easy. But I did it for Oliver. I did it for me. And I did it for those precious little girls so they could have a daddy in their lives. With Jill’s full support, I spoke on Vance’s behalf when he became eligible for parole six months ago. I can honestly say it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. But I know it was the right thing every time I see Willow and Keeley jump into his arms. He loves those girls. Absolutely adores them. And they are thrilled to have their father in their lives. And Toni, now not carrying the burden of provider and working less hours, is closer to looking her age. There is light in her eyes, and not as much fatigue. Yes, it was worth it, and such a good decision. I spoke on Vance’s behalf the same month I testified against Martin. That was a dark time in my life. I don’t know what I would have done if Oliver hadn’t been there for me. We had no idea what would come of my blackmailing Martin. But Oliver was insistent it would forever be a tie to him, one that must be severed. I knew he was right, but damn, I was terrified. Of course, Martin sang like a bird about the blackmail after I testified against him but I was lucky. The DA chose to forego pressing charges against me. He didn’t say it in so many words, but he felt as though I’d suffered enough. At least that’s what I got out of it. Martin is finally where he should be. Rotting in jail. Not with the general population since he’s paraplegic, and probably not for an incredibly long time, but he lost his freedom. At least for a little while. Most importantly, his family, friends, and business associates know what he did to me and those other dozen women. Patty touches my arm. “Your turn, Adelyn.” I walk the aisle formed by the two sections of guests. I pass my bouquet to Lawrence when I reach the bridal canopy and Oliver takes my hands. I’m shocked by what I see when I look into his baby blues. Tears. I’ve never seen Oliver cry. And of course that turns on my waterworks. What kind of bride wouldn’t cry at the sight of her groom shedding tears? My daddy gives us a moment before he begins, “Dearly beloved . . .” Our wedding ceremony is short. And of course the scripture we requested is about wives submitting to their husbands. Had to. Oliver may have been teary eyed before. But not now. I know the look I see there. Lust. Except now it’s for his wife. His wife who will submit to him. Forever. That smile tells me how much he likes hearing that. Alpha. Dominant. Oliver has mastered his craft. He knows just how hard to push. How hard to squeeze. How hard to bite . . . I’m getting turned on thinking about it. And it’s going to be hours before Oliver can make me come.

“You may kiss your bride.” Oliver doesn’t hesitate but he keeps it tame. I warned him my mama and daddy would flip out if he didn’t keep it classy. He heeded my warning about the kiss but his whispered words in my ear are not as subdued. “Mrs. Thorn, I’m going to fuck you into next week when I get you alone.” “It pleases me greatly to introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Thorn.”

Oliver Thorn Hooded, lustful eyes watching me. Nibbling her bottom lip. Adelyn is giving me the look. Unspoken words telling me what she wants. What she needs. But what the fuck am I supposed to do about it here? Now? We have fifty guests in this fully renovated barn ready to celebrate our nuptials with as much alcohol as they can hold. She works her way through the crowd toward the back of the building, looking at me over her shoulder every few steps. Checking to be sure I’m following. Of course, I’m trailing her. I’ll follow her anywhere when she gives me that look. The chase ends in the bridal room when I shut the door. And lock it. “Mrs. Thorn. You seem to be in need of something.” She nods as she takes several steps backward, her back pressed against the wall. And I know exactly what I’m going to do to her. “Pull your dress up so I can see your sweet pussy.” She grabs her wedding gown at the thighs and inches it up until she’s exposed from the waist down. Lacy white panties and a blue garter around her thigh. Fuck. “I can’t see what’s mine. Pull your panties to the side.” Ah, there it is. Mrs. Thorn’s shiny wet pussy. And damn if it doesn’t make me harder than Miss Maxwell’s. Mine. Her dress will make this a little tricky but it’s doable. Probably best from behind. “Turn around and keep holding your dress.” I tug open the button on my pants and lower my zipper as I move toward her. I grasp her panties and pull them down her legs. One less thing to hold out of the way. “Feet apart.” One hand goes to my cock to guide it into my wife’s warm, inviting entrance, the other goes to her throat. “This what you want, Mrs. Thorn? To be fucked against the wall? By your husband while you’re in your wedding dress?”

“Yes.” I enter her hard and fast and deep. Fuck. I never tire of that gasp. My cock no longer needs my hand for guidance so I move it to her clit. I want her to come. Hard. “Feel good?” “Yesss.” Her breathing and pulse pick up as she grinds harder. I apply bilateral pressure on her carotids. I know exactly what Adelyn’s body needs to push her over the edge into pure ecstasy. “I love you, Max.” So fucking much. “Love. . . you.” She beats me to the finish line so I release the pressure on her throat a couple seconds after I feel her come around my cock. As always, her climax is the onset of mine. I shut my eyes and press my forehead to her back. “I’m coming inside you so hard, baby.” We’re both breathless and trembling when I thrust the last time. Fuck, that was hot. The perfect way to consummate this marriage. “My legs are shaking like crazy. I need to sit down a minute.” I scoop Adelyn from the floor and carry her to the sofa. “That good, huh?” “Yeah. That good.” I sit next to her and cup her hands around mine, bringing them to my lips for a kiss. “I love you, sweet girl.” “I love you too.” We both jolt when the bridal room door suddenly swings open, my new motherin-law standing in the doorway. Fuck, Rachel. My pants are wide open. “There you are. Everything okay in here?” Adelyn jerks around to look at me. This is a new expression I’ve not yet seen. The seriously-you-didn’t-lock-the-door face. I locked that fucker. I know I did. “Fine, Mama. My feet were hurting so I was taking a quick break.” “Okay. Just checking.” Mrs. Maxwell’s eyes meet mine. “Michael wants to speak with you for a minute before y’all leave.” I can do without my father-in-law’s private conversations. “Yes ma’am.” Adelyn waits until her mother is gone to slap my chest. “She almost walked in on us. Do you know what she’d have done if she saw you choking me against the wall while you fucked me from behind? From. Behind. Oliver. She probably would have assumed you were putting it in my ass.” “I locked it. You saw me.” “Then how did she open it?” I chuckle as I picture the scene had she come in two minutes earlier. Boy, that would be a hard one to explain to my mother-in-law. “I don’t know, baby. Maybe she got the key or maybe the door didn’t catch all the way.” “That can’t happen again.”

“I hope you don’t mean the fucking against the wall part because I loved the hell out of that.” “You know very well what I mean.” She stands and straightens her dress. “Come on. We have guests to entertain.” I see my father-in-law as soon as we leave the bridal room. “What do you think your dad wants to talk about?” “Honeymoon pointers?” She giggles but I’m not as entertained as her. I don’t enjoy sex talks with my wife’s father. Especially when I was just inside her less than five minutes ago. Sure I smell like sex. “I hope to hell not.” I think that might be more uncomfortable than him telling me about popping Mrs. Maxwell’s cherry. Whatever it is, might as well get it over with. “I’m going to see what he wants.” “Don’t worry, Thorn. Probably just wants to tell you how proud he is to have you for a son-in-law.” One can hope. Brother Maxwell pats me on the back. “Come, Oliver. I want a private word with you.” I follow my father-in-law to the room where I just fucked his daughter from behind against the wall. “I wanted to tell you how happy I am to have you as my son-in-law.” What a fucking relief. I was almost thinking he wanted to talk about our wedding night. “I’m glad to hear that, Brother Maxwell.” “Call me Michael.” I nod but that’s going to take some getting used to. I’ve only been around my father-in-law a handful of times over the last year. He sits on the sofa and I follow suit. Don’t guess this is going to be the quick conversation I was hoping for. So glad I didn’t take her on the sofa. Awkward. “I once asked you to not break Adelyn’s heart or ruin her for the man who’d want to be her husband. I thank you for keeping your word.” Pretty sure I did both of those things. Broke her heart when she found out about Vance. Glad we’re beyond that now. I know for a fact I ruined her for every other man in the world. Not sorry about that one though. “She’s been my girl for twenty-eight years but now I’m entrusting her to you. Her soul belongs to God but she’s your girl now. Her heart. Her body.” She’s been my girl since the day she stood in my driveway holding a basket of baked goods. “Adelyn has all of my heart. I’m going to take care of her. I’ll never hurt her.” We’re going to have a happy life together. “Anyone can see how much you love her. I know you will be the amazing man she deserves.” My father-in-law puts his hand on my shoulder. “A little wedding night advice, son?” “Of course.” Because that’s not weird at all. I think he still believes Adelyn is a virgin. “I know you’ll be eager to have her but take things slow. Easy. You only get to have your wife beneath you for the first time once.” Oh, Michael. You only get to

fuck your wife against a wall for the first time once as well. And we did just fine at that. “Slow. Easy. Got it.” Maybe that’ll put his mind at ease, believing his virginal daughter isn’t the lamb coming to the lion between the sheets. Instead, she’ll be coming to her alpha.

Adelyn Maxwell Thorn 22 months later Oliver pokes me in the leg with his toes. “He’s crying for you.” “No. I think he’s crying for you.” I feel the bed shift as Oliver rolls to look at the clock. “Fuck, it’s only five. Why is he waking up so early?” “You said he went to sleep at eight. That means he’s had a full night of sleep. The boy’s ready to eat and play.” Oliver groans as he slides off the bed. “I’ll get him since you had a late night.” I haven’t had a late night event in a long time but last night’s was one of my biggest jobs ever. Michelle does a magnificent job of managing the events. She has taken so much from my shoulders but even she couldn’t have handled everything without my help. “Bring him to me,” I call out to Oliver. It’s been too long since I’ve held that precious boy. I sit up and straighten my shirt, holding my arms out for him. “Hey there, cutie.” Emeric latches on to the bottle’s nipple and sucks hard. Poor little thing looks like he’s starving. “Lawrence said he hates taking a bottle, and would probably fuss about it, but he seems content enough.” “He’s part Thorn. He’ll take food any way he can get it.” “Have you heard from them?” “Of course. Lawry FaceTimed three times yesterday so she could see him. She cried the last time because he was already asleep and couldn’t hear her voice.” A mother’s love is precious. “I know they hated to leave him but it’s good for them to have alone time.” Life was rough for Tap and Lawrence before Emeric was born. They lost two babies within six months. Thank God for this little guy. “It’s only a couple of months until our anniversary.” Two years. I can’t believe

the way time has flown. “Should we take a trip?” “I don’t know. Have something in mind?” “I was thinking we might have one of these little guys, or least one on the way, by the time our anniversary rolls around next year.” My heart leaps into my throat. And I feel like I need to throw up. “Maybe we should take advantage and do an extended international trip this year. I was thinking a few days in Dublin and then Edinburgh before hopping over to London and Paris.” Oliver loves taking me places. Reminds me so much of how Quentin loves showing Libby the world. “You want one of these little guys that soon, huh?” I hear the tremor in my voice even if he doesn’t. “Yeah. Emeric needs a cousin. I don’t want to wait until they’re so far apart in age they won’t be close growing up. They’ll one day run Lovibond together. They should be buddies from the beginning.” “You sound like you think it’ll automatically be a boy.” “Emeric can be tight with a girl cousin. A daughter could run Lovibond as well as a son. Look at Lawry and all she’s accomplished.” Lawrence has made BCC highly successful. Oliver introducing the idea of getting pregnant before our next anniversary is news to me. “Having a baby next year will put them two years apart. Maybe two and a half. Don’t you think they’d be better pals if they were more like fourteen months apart?” I’ve already done the math in my head. “Of course but that would mean you’d have to get pregnant really soon.” “Or I’d have to already be pregnant. Like maybe six or seven weeks.” Oliver stares at me, his brow wrinkled. I gulp as I await his response. My fate. I don’t know what I’ll do if he isn’t as thrilled as me. “Are you?” The knot in my throat aches from holding in my tears. “I’ve known for a week but I didn’t know how to tell you.” The last word leaves my mouth and I burst into tears. Like a baby. I’ve gone over this moment in my head a million times since I peed on that stick and two lines appeared. “Why are you crying, Max?” I don’t want to taint this moment but I have to be real. “You said you weren’t ready the last time we talked about getting pregnant.” He straight up told me he didn’t want a baby yet. That was when Emeric was born five months ago. We’re not ready for a baby, Max. We have plenty of time. No need to be in a hurry. The missed period. Nausea. Tender breasts. And then the positive pregnancy test. I was shocked. And then at a loss for words when I tried to think of a way to tell Oliver. I know I didn’t do this alone but I’m the one in charge of birth control. I hope he doesn’t feel like I failed him. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t miss any pills. Not one. I need you to know that. But I also need you to know I’m not sorry it

happened. I want this baby very much. I already love it.” Please feel the same, Thorn. “Fuck, Max. We’re having a baby.” I can’t tell what kind of reaction that is. Oliver moves and kneels by me on the bed. He grasps my face and kisses me hard. “Love you so much.” He puts his hand on my stomach. “When?” “The pregnancy website estimates November third but I’ll find out for sure when I see the doctor next week.” “I can’t believe it, Max.” He’s beaming and so am I. “A baby. Our baby.” Oliver tickles Emeric under his chin. “Hear that, little dude? You’re getting a baby cousin.” Oliver stretches out across the bed, pulls my shirt up, and places his palm on my stomach. “It’s right there, Max, beneath my hand. Already forming and growing.” He rubs in a circular motion. “Have you been sick?” “Yes.” The last several mornings have been rough. “A good sign?” I’m sure he can’t help but think about Lawrence’s miscarriages. And maybe even mine. I don’t think nausea means everything is okay but it’s not a bad sign. “Definitely goes along with the norm.” “Good.” He puts his head on my stomach. “Now let me put your fears to rest. I want this baby. I already love him or her. Don’t worry one second that I don’t. When I look at you, I feel it. You are my heart and now this baby is too. You are my home. Forever.” As he is mine. THE END More coming soon from the sexy men of Lovibond Brewery. Porter: A Lovibond Novel 3

Excerpt: Beauty from Pain THE BEAUTY SERIES: BOOK I

GEORGIA CATES

They agreed on three months... but their love knew no boundaries. Jack McLachlan is a winemaking magnate and easily one of Australia’s most eligible bachelors. His success and wealth makes him no stranger to the complications of romantic relationships and that’s why he goes to extreme measures to avoid the hassle. He prefers simplicity in the form of a beautiful female companion with no strings attached. He arranges relationships like business deals and they’re always the same. No long term relationships. No real names. It’s his game and his rules. He’s content to play as usual, but when Laurelyn Prescott enters his life, his strategy must change because this player is like none he's ever encountered. His world is turned on its head after he begins a three month affair with the beautiful American musician. Nothing goes according to plan and as he breaks more and more of his own rules for her, she’s exceptionally close to becoming something he never thought possible. His ultimate game changer.

CHAPTER 1 LAURELYN PRESCOTT I am sick of being on this plane. The four-and-a-half-hour flight from Nashville to Los Angeles was fine. The layover was tolerable, thanks to the airport bar. But the last leg of our flight to Australia is becoming more and more unbearable with each passing minute. I try to calculate how much longer it is until we land in Sydney. My exhaustion makes it difficult for me to do the simple equation in my head, but it looks like it’s still almost two hours until I will feel solid ground beneath my feet again. I sigh and tell myself to be patient. I’ve made it this far. I can take another two hours. I mean, I don’t really have a choice at this point, right? I look at my best friend sleeping in the seat next to me and I’m irritated. Addison has slept most of the flight, leaving me to entertain myself. She offered to share her Valium, but I declined, certain I wouldn’t need it. Wrong. I climb over Addison and take a walk up and down the aisle to stretch my legs, which helps me feel better. Upon returning to my seat, I decide reading will help pass the time, so I grab my e-reader and pick up where I stopped on the slutmance I’d started earlier. Only at chapter six and of course, the woman is in love with the hot new guy but is in denial. How typical. Chapter twelve is winding down when the pilot announces that we’ll be landing in Sydney in ten minutes. Addison doesn’t stir, so I put my naughty tale away and nudge her, knowing it will take the next ten minutes to get her out of her druginduced slumber. “Wake up, Addison. We’re almost in Sydney.” She barely stirs so I nudge her again. “Addison. Get up. We’re in Sydney. You need to get buckled for the landing.” She lifts her head and stares at me with unfocused eyes. She straightens in her seat and takes a moment to get her bearings. “Wow, that went faster than I expected.” “I guess so since you were in a freakin’ coma. It was the longest thirteen hours of my life. I didn’t sleep a wink the whole flight because I was too busy wondering if we were going to end up being shark food.” That came out a little pissier than I’d intended. “Well, there’s no reason to be miserable when you don’t have to be. You should’ve taken a happy pill and then maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky right now.” She won’t have to offer twice on the flight home three months from now. Lesson learned. Buckled into my seat, I squeeze my eyes as the plane’s wheels screech against pavement. Our fellow passengers erupt into cheer and clapping when we’re safely on the ground. I’m not the only one glad to be getting off this plane. We collect our three months’ worth of luggage and take a seat in the terminal to

wait for our last flight. With an hour layover, I decide to visit the airport bar. “I’m gonna grab a much-needed and well-deserved toddy.” Addison’s phone rings and I recognize her brother’s ringtone. Before she answers, she gives me a warning. “Be back in thirty minutes or I’m sending security for you.” I don’t reply in words but make sure she sees the hand gesture I have for her. The airport bar isn’t far from our terminal and I plop down on a stool. “What can I get you?” I might not be able to tell by my surroundings, but I know I’m in Australia when I hear his accent. “I’d like something from a local brewery. I tend to favor lighter flavors.” He serves me a pale ale from a Sydney brewery. It’s stout, but good. I sit at the bar enjoying my ale. The bartender doesn’t try to talk about where I’m from or where I’m heading. He appears to be in his fifties, so I can only assume he’s heard more shit than he’d like over the years and thus isn’t interested in mine. Works fine for me. When I finish, I go back to where Addison is guarding our huge pile of luggage. “Was Ben calling to check on us?” “Yeah. He was making sure our flight was running on time. I told him to expect us to arrive around three. He said he’s bringing a friend to help with our luggage.” I see how many bags we have and I swear we look like a traveling band of gypsies. Most of it is Addison’s, but I have my fair share—there’s no way to pack lightly for a three-month stay. “That’s not a bad idea.” “He’s my brother. He knows how high maintenance I am.” I sit and prop my feet on the suitcase in front of me. “He didn’t say it, but he’s really excited to meet you.” He’s really excited to meet me. This is a huge red flag. I hope she isn’t thinking of playing matchmaker. “Don’t you dare even think about encouraging him.” I’m not interested in dating anyone right now. She knows this better than anyone. This whole Australia gig is about getting away from all that shit, not finding another pile of it. “He hasn’t dated many Aussies while he’s lived here. I’m just saying you shouldn’t be surprised if he tries to start something with you.” Oh, hell no. We’re not even there yet and she’s already trying to hook us up. “It’s not happening, Addison.” “You’ll be living in the same apartment with him for the next three months. Who knows what could happen?” Okay. Now, I’m getting pissed because it feels like I’m being ambushed. “I might not know what will happen, but I know what won’t, so forget it.” “Fine, fine, I won’t mention it again. Ben wants to take us out tonight, but I know you haven’t slept much. I told him you might not feel like it.” “Maybe I’ll feel up to it if I can catch a power nap on the flight to Wagga Wagga.” ***

This time it’s Addison nudging me when our flight is preparing to land. “Laurelyn. Wake up. We’re finally here.” I sit up and fluff my long brown hair. I look terrible when it’s flat and I’m sure it’s lying against my head after my nap. I couldn’t have slept more than forty minutes, but I welcome the overall refreshed feeling it brings—except for my mouth. The combination of mouth breathing, beer drinking, and lack of oral hygiene during our travels has skunked things up. I don’t want to meet Addison’s brother for the first time and have him question which end is my face. “I need some gum. Do you have any on you?” Addison reaches into her purse and holds out the lime-green pack in my direction. “Doublemint work for you?” I take two pieces because I’m fairly certain it’s going to take two shots of Doublemint to do the job. “Thanks.” We walk out of the jet bridge with our carry-ons and I see two great-looking guys standing in the terminal watching the disembarking passengers. I know Ben as soon as I see him. I could pick him out of a crowd anywhere, even if I’d never seen his picture. There’s no way to miss him; he’s the perfect male version of Addison. His blond hair is darker than hers (her monthly date with the hairdresser helps those playful highlights). Their olive skin presents a striking contrast with their light hair. He is stunning, just like his sister, but in a masculine way. It’s too bad I’m not interested in dating because he is hot. He puts his arms around his sister’s middle and squeezes as he lifts her from the floor and spins several times. “I can’t believe my little sister has come all this way to see me.” He lowers her feet to the floor and looks at me. “And you must be Laurelyn.” “Indeed I am.” Addison and I have been best friends since we met our freshman year at Vanderbilt, but my path has always failed to cross Ben’s for one reason or another. Now that we’re meeting after four years, I’m not sure if I should extend my hand for a shake or lift my arms for a hug, so I wait for his cue. He goes for the hug. “It’s good to meet you, Laurelyn. I’ve been hearing about you for years, so I feel like I already know you.” “I hope my best friend hasn’t ruined your opinion of me.” “Never.” His crooked grin shows off one of his deep dimples. It’s not a friendly nice to meet you smile. He’s flirting with me already, so I’m wondering what my good pal might have told him. Addison clears her throat. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?” The vibe I’m getting from Ben makes me uncomfortable, so I’m happy to shift my focus from him to his buddy. Zac is tall with an athletic build. His dark hair is buzzed close to his scalp except for the spiked tuft on top, and long, sooty lashes frame his almost-black eyes. He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt and I spy the tribal art tat wrapping around his bicep. His whole exterior screams trouble and that means one thing: my bad-boy-loving pal is going to be all over him.

He offers his hand to Addison first. “It’s very nice to meet you.” Oh, swoon. I’m not into guys like him, but I could listen to his smooth Aussie accent all day. I think I hear a sigh from Addison, and I know she’s thinking the same thing. “It’s great to meet you. Love your accent.” He offers his hand to me, but not his attention—that still belongs to Addison. “I hope your trip has been a pleasant one.” The trip here wasn’t a damn bit pleasant, but it’s rude to complain to someone I’ve just met. Addison replies, so I’m neither forced to lie nor complain because she is eager to keep Mr. Dark and Handsome’s attention. “We had a super trip.” “Do you ladies feel up for hitting a club tonight?” I feel like hitting something, but it’s called a bed. Addison is well rested from her snooze on the plane, so that means I’ll be the party pooper if I decline, which I’ve never been labeled as, and I don’t intend to start now. “I’m like an Energizer bunny, ready to go.” I’ll sleep when I’m dead, right?

CHAPTER 2 JACK MCLACHLAN I sit in the dark corner and scan the room like a starved predator searching for prey. I haven’t chosen her yet, but the woman who will share my bed for the next few months is in this room right now. I watch a lovely blond approach my table. “What can I bring you?” Hmm. A waitress—not at all my usual taste. I have a type. Attractive. Mature. Refined. This barmaid meets the attractive requirement well enough, but she’s void of refinement or maturity as displayed by her choice of apparel—a white, barely there tank top and frazzled cutoff denim shorts. She doesn’t do it for me. Plus, my last two companions were blond. I want a different flavor this time, but no redheads. I want a brunette. A beautiful one. I remind myself I’m not in Sydney where I have an endless variety of sophisticated women from which to choose. My choices are more limited in the small town of Wagga Wagga, but that doesn’t mean I have to settle for the first attractive woman I see. “I’ll have a Shiraz.” I’m prepared for a more prolonged relationship this time—three whole months instead of the usual three or four weeks. I’m looking forward to keeping this one around a little longer, and that’s all the more reason to be certain I make a wise choice. I begin my search of the club with the first table toward the front of the room. A brunette beauty sits with a group of women. I watch her for a while, but decide she’s too friendly with the woman sitting next to her. Lesbians aren’t in my repertoire. I spend the next hour scanning the club and come up empty-handed. I’m discouraged. No one stands out as the one and this club is by far my best bet for meeting single women in this town. Maybe I should consider coming back another time when it’s not open mic night. Tonight, the place is crawling with boozed college students. Tonight’s search has been a failure, but at least the karaoke was entertaining. I’m finishing off the last of my wine before I leave when an announcer from the club takes the stage and asks for the next singer to step forward. A small group of people across the room nominates one of its own. My view of the poor bastard is blocked by the crowd of intoxicated kids standing between us, but I’m certain this is going to be another delightful train wreck. The club erupts into cheer and chants. “Do. It. Do. It. Do. It.” A young woman walks onto the stage and stands with her back to the crowd as she takes a guitar from its stand. She lifts its strap over her head and then tosses her long brown hair over one shoulder. When she’s finished settling the guitar into place, she circles around and sits on the stool in the middle of the stage.

She’s beautiful. And somehow overlooked during my search. She’s wearing a short ivory dress and a denim jacket with brown cowgirl boots. She bares her thighs as she lifts her feet to rest on the bottom rail, but she’s careful to push her dress between her legs so she doesn’t provide a peep show to the crowd. She strums the borrowed guitar a few times and then leans into the microphone. “Is everyone having a good time tonight?” She’s American. I think. Her accent sounds different—not like what I’ve heard in the past. The crowd erupts into a drunken cheer and I hear a man’s voice yell over the crowd, “It’s better now, sweet thing!” She smiles and adjusts the mic. “I’m not from around here. It’s my first night in Australia.” “Leave with me and I’ll make you feel right at home!” a man shouts from the back of the room. She ignores the fat, ugly bastard yelling at her. “I don’t know what kind of music Australians like, but this has been one of my favorites for as long as I can remember.” She strums a few more chords. “This is ‘Crash Into Me’ by the Dave Matthews Band.” She sings it slower than the original, putting her own twist on it. Her voice is raspy and sexy, her eyes closed. She oozes eroticism. She tilts her head and opens her eyes when she begins to sing the chorus. I swear it feels like she’s looking right in my direction, singing to me. The stage lights shine in her face and common sense tells me she can’t see me sitting in the dark corner at the back of the club, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping. She finishes the chorus and shuts her eyes again. Her long legs bounce against the rail of the stool to keep rhythm and I fall victim to her siren’s song. She has bewitched me. And I want her. She’s the one. She opens her eyes and looks in my direction again as she sings about hiking up a skirt a little more. Man, she can show me her world if she so desires. The waitress returns to my table, but I don’t glance in her direction when she speaks. I can’t take my eyes from the beautiful brunette on stage for even a second. “Can I bring you another Shiraz?” My plans have changed. “Yes, please.” The American girl finishes her song and the crowd is all cheers and whistles. She smiles as she pulls the guitar strap over her head and then leans forward to the mic. “Thank you.” I watch her leave the stage and return to a table where she is sitting with a blond woman and two blokes. Damn! A boyfriend, perhaps? My waitress returns with my wine and places it on the table in front of me. “Excuse me, do you know the girl who just performed?” “No. She said it was her first night in Australia.”

I take my wallet from my interior jacket pocket and remove a hundred-dollar bill. I slide it in her direction across the table. “What about the people she’s sitting with?” She sees the money on the table and picks it up to deposit in the pocket of her black apron before turning to see who my songstress is sitting with. “The blond guy is Ben Donavon and his friend is Zac Kingston. They’re regulars in here, two or three times a week.” Why is this American here with those blokes? “She sounds American. Do you know why she would be with them?” “Ben is a Yank. His family owns a vineyard in California and he’s here to study wine at the uni. I think she’d have to be someone he knows from home.” I hold up a second hundred-dollar bill between my fingers. “See this? It’s yours if you can find out what she’s doing here and how long she’ll be in Wagga Wagga. And find out if she’s dating either one of the blokes.” She smiles and I see she’s interested in playing my little game. “I’ll be back to collect that in a minute.” I sit back and enjoy my Shiraz while the waitress does my detective work. A visiting American couldn’t be more perfect for my next companion. Once our relationship is over, she would be on an entirely different continent, which ensures we won’t have any accidental future run-ins. My stay in Wagga Wagga is becoming more promising. I finish my glass of Shiraz as my waitress returns. “Her name is …” I cut her off before she can finish her sentence. “No, I don’t want to know her name.” I can see this stumps her, but money is money. “Ben’s sister is her best friend and they’ve come to spend the summer with him. She met Ben and Zac for the first time today.” Good. That means she isn’t dating either of them. If the guys are students in the wine science program at the university, I’m guessing they will be at the vintage dinner at the school on Friday night. They’ll be anxious to showcase their wines. I wonder if she’ll be there as a guest. I pull another bill from my wallet and hold it up for Blondie to see. “This is yours if you can find out what their plans are for the vintage dinner at the university on Friday night. I want to know if the brunette will be there.” She smiles again. “I could play this game all night.” Ten minutes later, she returns with another Shiraz and an update. “The guys will be presenting their wines at the dinner, and both girls will be guests.” I slide the well-earned bill across the table. “Perfect. Thank you.” “It’s been my pleasure. Would you like me to keep the Shiraz coming?” “Yes.” I spend the next hour stealing glances at the beautiful American through the crowd of people between us as they shift. I’m disappointed when the foursome gets up to leave, but I see the perfect opportunity for a convenient face-to-face

encounter when she moves toward the restrooms. I migrate in that direction and wait for her to emerge for our chance meeting in the hallway. When the door to the ladies’ room opens, I walk toward her, but she’s looking down into her purse. She attempts to dodge right, so I move with her. “Pardon me.” Her accent is so unusual. And endearing. She steps to her left and I move with her like a mirror image. “So sorry, Miss.” Look up at me. “Wanna dance?” she laughs as she lifts her eyes from her purse. “I’d love to.” Her smile spreads with my reply. We lock eyes and I try to identify the color of hers, but I can’t. It’s too dark in the narrow hallway. I was right. She is the one. She seems embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Asking someone to dance is an expression we use where I’m from. You know? Like when two people try to get around one another as we just did.” “I’m familiar with the expression, but one can always hope.” I step around her toward the door to the men’s room. “I think I would have enjoyed a dance with you.”

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Excerpt: A Necessary Sin THE SIN TRILOGY: BOOK I

GEORGIA CATES

I’ve watched him from afar for years. And he has no idea. I take joy in that. Through my observations, I’ve learned what makes this charming villain tick. Whisky. Power. Beautiful women. And Sex. Lots of it. Sometimes you must get into bed with the enemy for the greater good. And that’s what I’ll do; it’s all part of making Sinclair Breckenridge fall in love with me so I can penetrate his inner circle. There’s hell to pay. I’m a dark horse. The perfect storm. I am Bleu MacAllister. And I’m coming for him.

PROLOGUE STELLA BLEU LAWRENCE AGE SEVEN I’m wearing my pretty pink princess apron and chef hat while doing my most favoritest thing in the world–baking chocolate chip cookies with my mama. I inspect the shiny plastic roll of dough, studying the picture of the white fluffy pastry boy on the package before turning it around for her to see. “Mama, look. He’s wearing a puffy hat just like mine. Except mine’s prettier.” Everything is prettier when it’s pink. My mama sprays the pan we’re using for our cookies. “He sure is, Bleubird. And I think you’re right. Yours is much prettier. Did you know only the best chefs in the world wear hats like yours?” Wow. This hat makes me one of the best chefs in the world so that means these cookies are going to be the most delicious I’ve ever baked. “It’s your favorite song,” I squeal when “Amanda” begins to play. Mama says Boston sings that song just for her. I think she could be right since Amanda is her name. We always listen to music when we’re cooking so I’ve heard this song a million times. I know every word by heart but I don’t understand what it means. Mama says it’s all about grown-up stuff and I’ll understand one day. I’m not sure I ever want to understand. Grown-up stuff makes my mama cry. A lot. I’m singing my guts out because it always makes her crack up. I love seeing her laugh because it means she isn’t crying. She’s too pretty to cry so much. She holds the plastic roll of dough to her mouth and pretends it’s a microphone. She sings so pretty. Everything about Mama is pretty. I hope I grow up to be just like her. The song gets to the part where there are no words, only guitars, so she puts her pretend microphone on the counter and slices into it with a sharp knife. She always does that part because she says I’m still too little to use knives. My job is to roll the dough into little balls. I’m not always great at it, though. Some come out big, some little. But she always tells me I’ve done a great job–even when I know I haven’t. “Can I have a bite of dough?” She’s making her “no” face. “Please … with lots and lots of sugar on top.” I can’t remember why she said it’s okay to eat the cookie dough after it comes out of the oven, but not before. “Hailey’s mama lets her have cookie dough.” “Maybe one little bite will be okay, but we’re not going to make a habit of this, little lady.” She pinches off a tiny ball and I almost jump up and down because I’m so happy. I’ve always wanted to taste it because Hailey says it’s delicious. I miss cooking with Mama. We used to do it all the time but that was before she started her new job. She works at night so she has to leave me with our neighbor.

Amelia’s nice to me but she’s old, smells funny, and never wants to play. All she does is sit in her chair with her feet up and watch that news show where the same stories repeat over and over. It’s sooo boring. I finish my tiny ball of cookie dough and immediately want more. “Another? Please, with sugar on top.” That worked the first time. “No, Stella. I said one bite and that’s what I meant so don’t ask again.” I knew she’d say no but it was worth a try. I line the balls of dough on the pan and she puts them in the preheated oven. “We’ll check them in ten minutes.” She sets the timer on the stove because we don’t want to burn them. We love our cookies gooey. “What do you want to do while we wait?” I look at the roll of leftover dough in the roll. “Umm … eat cookie dough?” I grin and bat my eyelashes, as if that’s going to get me what I want but she doesn’t budge. I only succeed in making her laugh, which is better than making her mad since I asked again after she told me not to. I sit at the table in our kitchen, tortured by the smell of baking cookies. “They smell sooo good. How much longer?” I’m not sure why I asked. I can plainly see the timer counting down. “Five more minutes.” I huff and blow my hair out of my face and prop my chin on my hands. “I wish they’d hurry up. I’m ready to taste those ooey-gooey cookies.” “Good things come to those who wait.” She tells me that all the time but I don’t understand why good things can’t come sooner instead of later. I hate waiting. “Do you want milk with your cookies?” “Yes!” I run to the fridge and swing the smaller side open. I hope we have mugs in the freezer. I love that milky ice that forms in the glass. The doorbell rings and Max, our ginormous German shepherd, barks as he runs toward the door. I bounce up from the kitchen table to follow him. “I bet it’s Hailey wanting to play.” Mama puts her hand out and catches me by the back of my shirt. “That’s not Hailey. Her mother wouldn’t let her come over this late.” She goes up on her tiptoes and spies through the peephole. She jerks back and twists to look at me before placing her finger to her lips. “Shh.” She tiptoes to me and takes my hand. She grabs Max by the collar and takes us down the hallway. She goes to her knees so we’re face to face and holds both of my shoulders when we are in my bedroom. “Listen to me very carefully. We’re going to play a little game. I want you to hide under your bed and be very, very quiet. Stay there until I return and tell you it’s okay to come out. Do you understand, Stella?” I nod, afraid and confused, but I do as I’m told and crawl under my bed. “Max, stay,” she commands. I see him obey, his butt sitting on my carpet, but he doesn’t understand that he’s supposed to be quiet. He’s whining the way he does when he wants to disobey. “Don’t come out no matter what you hear,” Mama says.

I watch her feet leave my room and she pulls my bedroom door shut. I lie silently on the floor beneath my bed, waiting for her to return so I can come out. This game is not fun. The music gets super-duper loud. Loud enough that I’m sure the neighbors will call and complain to Mr. Johnson. It’s another song I know by Boston. “More Than a Feeling.” The guitar is screaming so I know we’re going to get in trouble with the landlord. Our neighbor, Mr. Benson, likes to turn us in every chance he gets. He doesn’t like us much and I don’t know why. The carpet is making my cheek itch so I lift my face to scratch it. In the process, I bump the back of my head on the railing of my bed. “Oww.” I put my hand over my head and rub it where it burns. Max gets up from where he’s sitting and scratches at the carpet, trying to get out of my room. He whines louder and begins barking as he paws at the door. “Stop, Max. You’re gonna make Mama mad if you scratch the paint.” I hear a bang, the loudest noise I’ve ever heard in my life, and my heart beats faster than I can ever remember. “Mama?” I whisper but stay put because it’s what she told me to do. Don’t come out until I say it’s okay. What was that loud sound? I smell the burning cookies. Mama wouldn’t let our cookies burn. I think something bad is happening. Max howls, now clawing to get out, and I press my face into the carpet so I can see between the floor and my bed skirt. I think about letting him out so he can go to Mama. I don’t have time to do it before my bedroom door opens slowly. Max backs away and then lunges for the leg of the person coming into my bedroom. I hear that same bang again, this time even louder, before seeing Max fall to the floor. Red. It’s splattered all over my beige carpet and I know what it is. I want to scream at the top of my lungs but I can’t. My breath is gone and it feels like there’s a person I can’t see covering my mouth with a hand to quiet me. I want to squeeze my eyes shut but I can’t because I’m watching the big, black shiny shoes come toward my bed. It’s a man and his pants are torn where Max bit him. He’s bleeding. His feet go still next to my head. I hold my breath so he won’t hear me but I can’t do it for long. It feels the same as when I’ve been under water too long. My body forces me to take a breath. It’s louder than I intend. I hear it so I’m scared he did too. His feet don’t move and then the bed skirt next to my head lifts. “I see you under there,” he says and I recognize his voice. He’s that man that talks funny. My mama has never let me meet him but I know it’s him–the man who comes here to see her at night after I’ve gone to bed. She calls him Thane. “You can come out, wee darlin’.”

I squeeze my eyes and scoot away. “Mama told me to stay here until she comes back.” He crouches next to the bed. I still can’t make out his face but I see the bloodstain getting bigger on his pants where Max bit him. “She says it’s okay. Your mum sent me to your room to get you.” I don’t believe this man. He’s bad. He killed my dog. “No.” “How old are you, toots? Six? Seven?” he asks. I back away until I’m pressed against the wall. He doesn’t say anything for a moment but when he does, it’s loud. “Fuck! Why did that wench have to go and have a bairn in the house?” he yells in a growly voice as he kicks my bed. I’m shaking because I’m scared. I squeeze my hands over my ears because I don’t want to hear him yell. He reaches beneath my bed and grabs my ankle, yanking me from the safe place. I have nowhere to go so I curl into a ball and wrap my arms around my head. I know what comes next. I’ve seen what bad men do. They hit. “Oh, toots. I really don’t want to do this but I have no choice.” I squeeze my eyes tighter and wait for the pain to come. But that isn’t what happens. He flips me to my back and presses something soft and feathery into my face so I can’t breathe. I kick, struggling for air, but he presses it harder. I fight with every ounce of strength I have but it’s no use. He’s a grown-up and I’m only a little girl. I don’t have the strength to make him stop and I’m afraid. I’m about to die. Then everything goes black.

CHAPTER 1 BLEU MACALLISTER MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE Just as a rose is unable to change its color, it isn’t possible for us to alter the past. It’s only once you realize this that you’ll be set free. This sounds really lovely, like it should be a quote in a book, but what happens when you can’t break the chains clutching you to a devastating and life-altering event? No one likes to talk about that kind of ugliness. Events in our lives shape us. There’s basically two categories–good or bad. I’m not going to touch on the praiseworthy since I’m not a motivational speaker. I want to address the ugly. This isn’t a perfect world. Bad things happen to good people. True evil exists and it walks this earth in the form of a well-suited man wearing expensive shoes. He speaks with a charming Scottish accent and smells of liquor and sweet tobacco. My mother’s killer. Most children are too naïve to recognize the moment they are being ruined for the rest of their lives. I wasn’t that lucky. I remember everything about that dreadful day and the memories often replay in my head–the bitter aroma of burning cookies, the smell of gunpowder floating in the air, even the vision of seeing Max’s brains splattered onto my carpet. I wish the amnesia I claimed to have would’ve stolen those gruesome memories. Maybe then this unquenchable demon with a thirst for hunting and executing wouldn’t have been spawned inside me. That was the day Stella Bleu Lawrence died. And Bleu MacAllister was born. I can barely recall a time in my life when I wasn’t obsessed with finding our attacker. I’ve spent years imagining the different ways he might beg for mercy as I hold a gun to his temple. These were the aspirations in my head when my mind would drift from memorizing presidents and state capitals. I never had innocent, childlike thoughts. My dreams weren’t of becoming the doctor to discover the cure for cancer or becoming the first female president; they were consumed by dark, vengeful thoughts. For eighteen years, every aspect of my life has revolved around retaliation in one form or another, with the exception of the two pleasures I allowed myself: photography and playing violin. Other kids took karate lessons for fun. I took Muay Thai for strength and defense skills. Girls my age enrolled in gymnastics because it’s what all their friends were doing. I became a gymnast to learn balance and agility. My fellow ballerinas liked wearing tutus. I became a dancer to master grace. I wasn’t naturally the brightest student so I excelled to the top of my class by becoming the most studious. Why? I’ve always known being the smartest person in the room would one day be my greatest tool. An intelligent person has a chance at outwitting another using a gun

in place of his brain. How does a person live this way without going mad? It wasn’t easy. But I had a confidant–my dad. I was twelve years old when I sat Harry, my adoptive father, down and told him it was time for a talk. No, not about the birds and bees. I’m certain that would’ve been much more preferable. Instead, I described my memories of the dreadful day my mother was murdered and how I was suffocated with a pillow and left for dead. I’d spent the previous five years claiming to have no memory of the horrid event. To say Harry was shocked to learn the truth would be an understatement. But that didn’t hold a candle to what came next. Telling him I intended to hunt and execute Thane Breckenridge was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Harry wasn’t delighted to learn that this little girl he saved was planning a murder. I’m certain no father wants to hear that his daughter’s aspiration in life is to grow up to be a killer, especially when he’s an FBI special agent sworn to uphold the law. That’s why I had to give him an ultimatum. Some might call it an ultimatum he couldn’t refuse–either teach me how to kill or watch me attempt it on my own without any training. It was a hell of a bomb to drop. I can’t imagine the despair he must’ve felt while hearing such a declaration. For that I’ve always been sorry. But I must have been convincing since he agreed. I suspect he went along with it in the beginning to pacify me. He probably believed a twelve-year-old girl would eventually change her mind or lose interest. Neither happened. Once Harry saw my determination, he took precise care in teaching me how to safely blend with monsters. That’s how I plan to do it–infiltrate Thane Breckenridge’s world of organized crime. Although I was tutored in the art of facade from an early age, Harry couldn’t prepare me for everything. Together, we decided I should briefly work as a police officer before applying for the FBI academy. He was once an instructor at Quantico so he knew all the right moves to expedite my acceptance into the program as soon as I turned twenty-three and had the proper credentials. It was a good decision since it furthered my education. Although brief, the most beneficial was the handson training in undercover work. I regret I wasn’t able to obtain more experience. Being an agent taught me to think of no one as more than a profile, even myself. I’m Stella Bleu Lawrence MacAllister, former special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigations, Memphis division. I’m a twenty-five-year-old Caucasian female with chestnut brown hair and light blue eyes. I’m five-six, weigh one hundred fifteen pounds. I’m considered attractive by most men’s standards. I lack an interest in relationships, both romantic and social. I’m emotionally cold, detached, and often display narcissistic characteristics. I’m very well aware of my thick skin and completely unapologetic for it. I’m simply inclined to not make connections or friendships with people, with three exceptions: Harry, Julia, and Ellison. Harry trained me to be a chameleon. I can easily adapt to any situation—except the one happening right now. Julia, my adoptive mother, is gone. Cancer claimed

her two years ago. Now Harry has it as well and the treatments aren’t working anymore. I haven’t recovered from losing Julia and now I face the same prognosis with the only father I’ve ever known. Losing two parents to cancer only a few years apart isn’t fair. I’m bitter and angry but this is different from my mother’s death. I can’t avenge losing them because an intangible illness is the villain to take them from me. Harry and I sit in my living room with the soft sound of Violin Concerto in D Major playing in the background as we comb through years of records. The final arrangements we’re making aren’t for Harry’s death. They’re for Thane Breckenridge’s. The files scattered before us concern him and his criminal organization known as The Fellowship. We thought I’d get a few years of FBI undercover experience before I walked directly into the lion’s den but Harry’s illness is forcing my hand prematurely. We planned for four years of experience. Instead, I got seventeen months. We’re forced to finalize the plan because he insists I do this while he’s still alive—and lucid. He says he can’t die in peace unless he knows I’ve put all this behind me. We’ve had eyes on them for years. I’ve memorized everything in these files about the Breckenridge gang and the people within his circle. It’s all in my mental vault, etched on my heart for good measure. Lounging on my sofa with feet propped on the coffee table, I chew my pencil as I look through the worn file and mull over my options. I already know how I want to do this but my plan has Harry and me butting heads. Thane’s son, Sinclair Breckenridge. He’s presently finishing his traineeship with the law firm, Hendry-Irvine, so he may be groomed to replace Rodrick Lester, the present attorney for the brotherhood. The older Breckenridge son is a twenty-sixyear-old Caucasian male with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Height is six-two, weight approximately one hundred eighty-five pounds. He’s very attractive, highly intelligent, and studious—hence, Thane’s decision to make him the organization’s next criminal defender. Harry doesn’t like the idea of me infiltrating the brotherhood through the son. He’s afraid Sinclair will have a strong attraction for me. In other words, he fears I’ll allow the lines to blur because he’s handsome and charming. A snowball in hell has a better chance than me allowing myself to develop anything less than hatred for a Breckenridge. The younger son, Mitch, is a no-go. At twenty-two, he’s too immature and not in an optimal position within The Fellowship. “I’ve looked at this from a lot of different angles and I still believe the older son is my best way in.” Harry shakes his head while scouring a section of the file in his hand. “And the most dangerous,” he counters, never looking in my direction. “These aren’t the kind of people to welcome a stranger into their fold. You have to penetrate lower on the totem pole and gradually move your way up to not rouse suspicion. It’s far too dangerous to start at the top.”

Beginning at the bottom takes time, a luxury we don’t have. Harry’s cancer has already proven to be a hungry little bastard. “Going straight to Sinclair Breckenridge will save weeks, possibly months.” “I shouldn’t have to remind you that the long road is safest with these people. The more they know you, the better they trust you. Shortcuts get you killed.” Harry’s oncologist says he has six, maybe up to eight months left. After my experience with Julia, we can probably only expect three of those to be good. There’s not a single minute to be wasted but I won’t argue or remind him why our timetable is short. I’ll concede for now and then do what I must when the time comes. “You’re right.” I thumb through the papers and find the profile for Sinclair’s friend, Leith Duncan. “What do you think of worming in through his friend, the bar owner?” “Remind me again who he is.” “One of Sinclair’s best friends, owner of the bar where they all drink. He’s the son of a somewhat insignificant—a grunt responsible for carrying out tribute.” “You’re determined to get to Thane through his boy.” He’s reading me like a book. He knows I may start at Leith Duncan but it’ll be short-lived when I move on to the son. “That doesn’t have anything to do with his pretty face, does it?” He knows I’ve never been a sucker for a pretty boy. “Don’t make me hit a sick, old man.” He laughs while stretching to reach for the profile. “I know you won’t toy with this Leith for long but let me take another look at him.” I give him a minute to review the file before making my suggestion. “With the exception of Thane and Abram, the brotherhood members frequent this bar on a regular basis. I’d be in contact with all of them at one point or another so that broadens my options. They all like pretty girls in short kilts to serve their drinks.” I hold up the surveillance photo of the bar. “I’d look pretty good in the Duncan Whisky Bar uniform.” “I’m not crazy about ruthless men ogling you in that tiny skirt.” “It’s a kilt.” “It’s a nearly nonexistent scrap of plaid. I’d rather you didn’t walk around wearing it for all of The Fellowship members to see.” He sighs. “But I guess it’s a solid idea.” He peers at me over his reading glasses. “Although we both know I’m aware of what you’re going to do.” He means me skipping through the chain of command and going straight for Sinclair. “You know I’m careful.” Being an undercover agent was the perfect job for me. I was very good at it. But I should’ve been. I’d been trained for it since I was twelve. “I can’t help it. You’re my daughter. It’s my job to protect you.” Elli is the one he can coddle, not me. She’s the princess so she eats that shit up. We’re parent and child by choice, not blood. Harry is the one who saved me that day. He was off duty and visiting family in my apartment building when he heard the gunshot. I was unresponsive without a heartbeat—or any sign of life—when he got to me. The doctor said the only reason I lived was because Harry performed CPR

and kept oxygen circulating to my vital organs until the EMTs arrived and shocked my heart into beating again. We also share a secret, forging a bond between us that my sister will never understand—and can never know about. She thinks Harry loves me more because we spend so much time together. She often feels excluded, but of course, he loves her equally. She isn’t able to see it and for that, I’m truly sorry. I regret making my sister feel less loved. Harry views us in different light, as he should. Ellison and I are very different. I’m strong and resilient while my sister is soft and delicate. She’s the epitome of Daddy’s little princess. They have a normal relationship. My sister is his and Julia’s biological child, and Julia was the only love he’s ever known, so of course he loves Elli with all his heart. I sometimes envy the ease of their relationship but that’s my own fault. I ruined any chance of father-daughter normalcy when I asked him to teach me how to kill. “Okay.” “Okay, what?” “You’re getting your way. You’ll go in through Duncan’s Whisky Bar.” Yes! “But when this is said and done, I’m afraid you’ll not find the peace you think it’ll bring. Serenity is the last thing you’re going to experience. I fear you’ll find yourself in a new kind of hell.” He’s still trying to convince me I shouldn’t go through with this. “I’ve killed before and slept soundly afterward.” “You killed because it was your job and you were given no choice. You went for the arrest but it turned into kill or be killed. This is different. You’re going to exterminate an unsuspecting man.” Thane Breckenridge is not a man. “He’s a monster. He deserves to die.” “When the time comes, you’re going to feel differently about killing an unarmed person. You shouldn’t be surprised if you’re not able to go through with it.” “I’ll be able to do it.” I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. “Are you still hell-bent on not using an alias?” “Yup.” I don’t have the help of the FBI on this one so I think it’s best to go in simple. They’ll have no reason to suspect I’m there for any reason other than the one I give —unless Thane believes I’m a ghost who’s risen from the grave.

CHAPTER 2 SINCLAIR BRECKENRIDGE EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND “Thanks for coming, Sin. I really appreciate it.” I’ve known Hewie since I was a bairn but I didn’t come to court to act as moral support. I was sitting in as Rodrick’s assistant so I could observe the way he bends the law to the brotherhood’s favor. He’s a master, well known by all for his ruthless measures, as I will be when I take his place as solicitor for The Fellowship. This means I’ll be Hewie’s defense attorney in the future, but not today. “You were stupid and sloppy. Will you do us both a favor and make smarter moves when I step into Rodrick’s shoes?” And more importantly, when I take my father’s place as leader. “This won’t happen again.” “Good. See that it doesn’t.” I’m certain there won’t be a recurrence after Abram and my father are finished with him. “Atonement is scheduled for tomorrow.” Hewie unknowingly brought an undercover agent into The Fellowship but we were lucky. Intent to sell heroin is the only charge they were able to bring against him. It could’ve gone much worse had the agent made it deeper but he was an anxious rookie, ready to jump on a bust. “Whatever Thane and Abram choose as my punishment will be better than spending another night in that jail. The walls felt like they were closing in around me.” Everyone knows Hewie has a thing about small spaces so I’m guessing he’ll get to spend the night in a tight, dark space after he takes a merciless beating. “I’ll come back for you at seven in the morning. Tell your wife you have a job and you’ll be gone a few days.” The last thing we need is her reporting him as missing. Sterling brings the car to a stop in front of Hewie’s flat. “I’ll be ready when ye return.” Dumb bastard. He’s never paid retribution so he has no idea what’s in store for him. I guess that’s a good thing. *** I have Sterling drive to Duncan’s Whisky Bar so I can meet up with my two best mates, Leith and Jamie, for a drink. The three of us are as close as any three pals can be. We’ve known one another since we were bairns and share far more than our involvement in The Fellowship. Together, we’re the future of the coalition. But we aren’t equals. I’m the one who will step into the role of leader. Leith snaps his fingers at his head server, Lorna. “Bring Sin his usual.”

“How’d it go with Hewie?” Jamie asks. “In our favor, as always. The prosecution didn’t have shit, thanks to some dodgy police work. It should never have gone before the High Court but we all know how it made it through.” The authorities believe they can take The Fellowship down bit by bit, no matter how small the piece. “All the charges were dropped so Hewie’s legal problems are over, but he has atonement in the morning.” “Who’s his enforcer?” Leith asks. “Sangster.” He’s the meanest son of a bitch in The Fellowship. He finds entirely too much pleasure in carrying out punishment. I strongly suspect he’s a sadist. “He can do some real damage. I don’t know why Thane and Dad keep him on as an enforcer. It seems more hurtful to have him damaging our men, rather than punishing them,” Jamie says. I know why Abram and my father keep Sangster on. “They think the threat of being maimed will make the brothers more aware of their actions and careful to avoid mistakes.” “Sangster crippled Potinger while carrying out his atonement last month.” I’m sure Jamie knows firsthand the damage that enforcer can cause since he was the one to initially treat him. “I had to send him to a therapist but it isn’t helping. I think it’s permanent nerve damage.” “It’s a damn shame. Potinger will be useless if he never walks right again.” Leith quickly turns to look at me. “You know I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” “Of course not.” I shrug it off. I don’t want this conversation to turn into one about my injury so I steer it back toward Hewie. “I think he’ll go easier this time since he knows the elders are watching.” “I hope so—for Hewie’s sake,” Jamie says. “Geneen came in last night with McLain,” Leith informs me. “You gonna do something about that?” They know I don’t give two shits about Geneen but they find it disrespectful for her to come into the bar with another brother. We had a few fucks over a couple of weeks. He’s welcome to my leftovers. “She’ll tire of this game once she realizes I don’t care.” Leith waves his hand toward the back of the club where the barmaids pick up drinks. “Lorna’s working late tonight. You should take her into the storage room if Geneen comes back. That would show her you’re not concerned with her anymore.” I stopped tasting Lorna’s nectar years ago. Since then, she’s been passed around by almost every brother in this place, so I have no interest in ever having her again. I prefer a woman who hasn’t had every dick in the room inside her. I admit it. I’m a selfish bastard. Even if I’m not interested in a woman for the purpose of a relationship, I don’t want any of the brothers to have had her before me. What she does afterward is not my concern. “I’m looking for something a little fresher.” “Leith has something fresh—an American lass.” Jamie laughs. “She definitely

hasn’t been touched by any of the brothers.” Leith slams his hand on the table. “No one puts a finger on her. If anyone gets a piece of that fit arse, it’s going to be me.” “Good Lord, Leith! An American?” This isn’t good. Dad and Abram won’t be pleased. “You can be such a dobber sometimes.” Leith knows he’s to only hire local girls within our circle. Taking in a stranger we know nothing about is a foolish move since members of the brotherhood frequent this bar. “I can’t believe you’ve brought in an outsider. The elders won’t approve.” “Don’t worry. The lass is in Edinburgh on a temporary basis. Her employment won’t be long-standing.” And her life may not be either, thanks to him. “You have to get rid of her,” I argue. “She can be very persuasive.” “Persuasive, as in she had sex with you?” “Not yet.” “Did she promise you sex?” “No.” Damn fool. “Tell me you were steamin’ when you hired her.” “She needed some quick cash. I can pay her under the table and she’ll move on in a few weeks. No worries.” No worries, my arse. “There’s a reason you only hire a lass with a connection to The Fellowship. This one could become a problem for the brotherhood. If that happens, she’ll be sleeping with the fish. You’ve done her no favor by employing her. She’s been placed in the middle of a dangerous situation and has no idea.” “You’ll understand why he hired her when you see her sweet arse,” Jamie says. “I don’t care how fit the American is.” Leith should know better than to think with his dick. “There she is,” he says. I look over at the barmaid’s station and see her from behind. Her chestnut brown hair is pulled into a messy pile on top of her head. She’s wearing the typical Duncan uniform—a short plaid kilt and tight white blouse tied above her waist. She spins around while holding a tray of whiskies over one shoulder and smiles at Leith. She doesn’t give me so much as a glance when she walks by to deliver drinks to the table behind us. “Good-looking, eh?” She’s definitely bonny. I can’t debate that. “No woman is fit enough to put yourself on Dad’s and Abram’s shit lists.” He looks at the American as she bends over to pick up a napkin that blew off her serving tray. “I don’t know about that, buddy. Her bum is nice.” I watch her skirt ride almost up to the cheeks of her arse and then back down again when she stands. “She’s easy on the eyes, mate. I won’t argue that point but I can say with confidence that you’ve made a problem for yourself with the elders.” “If I get between those legs, it’ll be worth the fallout with Thane and Abram.” “Whatever.” Leith can’t be trusted to make the wisest decisions when it comes to The Fellowship. It’s a good thing he’s in charge of this bar and not within the

inner circle where the big decisions are made. I’m certain Dad and Abram wouldn’t put up with his bullshit. The American lass passes by our table on the way back to her pouring station. Leith reaches out to catch her around the waist. “Come here. I want you to meet my other best mate.” He snakes his arm around her and grasps her hip, pulling her close. He’s being a wanker. “Meet the infamous Sinclair Breckenridge.” “The infamous, huh?” She smiles and holds out her hand. “Hi. Bleu MacAllister.” Bleu MacAllister. I repeat her name in my head five times as I look at her face so she’ll be etched in my memory. It’s probably unnecessary. I highly doubt I could forget her unusual name or bonny face. “It’s a pleasure, Miss MacAllister. May I ask what brings you to Edinburgh?” “My Aunt Edy, who was really my grandmother’s best friend, fell ill. Cancer. I was quite fond of her. She was like family so I came over to care for her during her last days.” “Then she’s already passed?” I ask. “Three weeks ago.” “And you’re still here?” I point out. “I’m the only one in the family who has the flexibility to stay and settle Edy’s estate.” “Is that a more dignified way of saying you don’t have a job?” I sound rude— exactly the way I intend. “Stop cross-examining her,” Leith warns. “You’ll have to excuse him, Bleu. He’s near finished his training to become a solicitor and he takes it a little too far sometimes.” I don’t need Leith to apologize for my actions. “I’m not taking anything too far. I’m making conversation about why a grown woman would not have a life or profession to get back to.” “I never said I didn’t have a life or profession.” She places her hand on her hip. “Then you have employment?” “I’m a photographer—mostly babies and brides. I’m the owner of a private studio so I have more freedom in my job than my father or sister.” “Yet you’re working in a bar as a wench?” “I’m a visitor, and as a lawyer, I’d think you’d be aware that I don’t have a work visa. Because I can’t be legally employed, I’m very grateful Leith hired me as a wench since Edinburgh isn’t a cheap place to live.” I do believe Miss MacAllister is a firecracker. “Did your aunt not leave you an inheritance?” “Yes, hence my reason for staying to settle her affairs. It’s time consuming, as I’m sure you understand, being that you’re in the legal profession.” She turns away from me to Leith. “Is your friend always this disagreeable?” Leith slides his hand from her hip to her arse. “Unquestionably.” She moves his hand off her bum. “You don’t pay me enough for that privilege.”

“I can give you a raise.” Leith laughs. “I’m sure you can, boss,” she calls out over her shoulder as she walks away. “That lass is something, eh?” She’s beautiful and charming. I hope that doesn’t backfire on my pal. “My gut tells me she’s something all right, but what, I’m not certain.” “You’re always so paranoid.” He’s right. I suspect everyone but paranoia keeps me alive, so I’m perfectly fine with it. The next hour is much the same. Leith looks the part of a prick as he flirts with the American each time she walks by. She seems receptive to his advances but I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. I wonder how long she’ll be here. I hope not a minute longer than it takes to settle her business since Leith is too stupid to see this is a train wreck waiting to happen. Perhaps I should offer her legal assistance so I can hurry along the process. Private law concerning inheritance settlement isn’t my specialty but I know enough to advise her. “She’s back.” I don’t have to turn around to know whom Jamie means. It’s Geneen. “And she’s brought McLain with her again.” I turn around and Geneen smirks, looking proud to have me see her with another man. It’s laughable for her to think she could make me jealous. “You’re a tube if you don’t go over there and beat him until he pisses himself.” I despise that bitch for coming here with him but Jamie’s right. She’s forcing my hand or I’ll appear weak in front of the brotherhood. I can’t have that. “I will, but not before Geneen gets a penance fuck for doing this.” I’ll get far more satisfaction from that than slamming my fist into McLain’s face. I get up from the table and go over to her. She’s sitting on a barstool next to her new man. I grab her arm and squeeze. “To the back. Now.” I look at McLain. “And not a fucking word out of you.” She grins because I’m guessing she thinks she knows what going to the back means. Too bad for her, she’s mistaken. I know her kind. They think they can win my heart with hot sex but she couldn’t be more wrong. I’ll use her up and toss her aside, just like the rubber I’ll wear when I fuck her. I lead her into the storage room and reach under her dress. I roughly yank her knickers down her legs and shove her back against the shelving unit. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable but we aren’t doing this for anyone’s pleasure but my own. The fleeting thought of pleasure causes me to change my mind about how we’re going to do this. If I fuck Geneen, I’ll be giving her exactly what she wants, so I decide she’ll suck me off instead. I step away from her. “I changed my mind. Get on your knees.” She steps forward and tries to kiss me but I shove her away. Her mouth will never touch mine. “I said, get on your knees.” She lowers herself to the floor and unzips my trousers. She’s reaching inside for

my knob when the door swings open. Leith’s new American barmaid barges into the room and stands with her hands on her hips. “Can you move over, please? You’re blocking me from what I need to get.” Is she serious? “No. I’m busy. Come back after we’re finished.” “Kenrick sent me to fetch a bottle of Ballantine’s and you’re in my way.” This girl would never speak to me like this if she was from here and knew who I was. She’d show me respect. “Can’t you see what’s happening here?” “Unfortunately, it’s something I can never unsee.” She points to my left. “I’m certain she can still give you a first-class blow job eighteen inches in that direction.” Neither of us makes a move and she huffs. “Look, all the leaves on my give-afuck tree have fallen. It’s been a long day. I’ve been grabbed and fondled by strange men for the last six hours. Some old geezer slipped his hand up my skirt and I had to smile and kindly encourage him to remove it … instead of breaking his face with my fist. I’m tired. I just want to finish my job so I can go home and have one or a dozen glasses of wine and then pass out. I’m not asking for much.” This lass’s behavior is absurd—and highly entertaining. I shove my cock back in my pants and step out of her way. “You heard Miss MacAllister. We’re in her way.” Geneen laughs but not because she’s amused by this American called Bleu. “Oh, hell no. I’m not moving,” she says, arms crossed and still kneeling. “Then you should probably expect this to be hugely unpleasant,” Bleu says. “Really?” I’m caught completely off guard when Bleu punches Geneen directly in the center of her face, knocking her to the floor, and then kicks her in the gut. She doesn’t give her another glance as she reaches over her crumpled body. I watch her grab a bottle of whisky and inspect it. “I believe this will do nicely.” She sashays toward the door, calling back over her shoulder, “Carry on.” I burst into laughter as I help Geneen from the floor. “The girl must be certifiably crazy, but my God, that was the most entertaining thing I’ve seen since … ever.” “Are you kidding me?” Geneen touches her face. “I think that bitch broke my nose.” I look at her and confirm her suspicion. Her nose is definitely no longer in the center of her face. “I fear you’re right. Looks broken to me.” “I’m kicking her arse,” Geneen growls as she starts for the door. I grab her arm but not because I fear for Bleu’s safety. I’m certain she can do a right nice job of protecting herself. “There will be none of that, I’m afraid.” Bleu has greatly lifted my mood so I’m feeling far too generous to give a penance fuck or start a fight. “Get out of here. Take McLain with you and never come back.”

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About the Author GEORGIA CATES

Georgia resides in rural Mississippi with her wonderful husband, Jeff, and their two beautiful daughters. She spent fourteen years as a labor and delivery nurse before she decided to pursue her dream of becoming an author and hasn’t looked back yet. Sign-up for Georgia’s newsletter. Get the latest news, first look at teasers, and giveaways just for subscribers. Stay connected with Georgia at: Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, Goodreads, Pinterest, Website and Email.

OTHER BOOKS BY GEORGIA THE LOVIBOND COLLECTION Tap: A Lovibond Novel 1 Stout: A Lovibond Novel 2 Porter: A Lovibond Novel 3 (TBA) The Lovibond Collection: Tap, Stout STANDALONE Indulge THE SIN SERIES A Necessary Sin: Book I The Next Sin: Book II One Last Sin: Book III The Sin Trilogy Bundle Endurance: A Sin Series Novel Jamie and Ellison's Story Redemption: A Sin Series Novel Leith and Lorna's Story Coming 2017 Unintended: A Sin Series Novel Westlyn and Kieran’s Story Coming 2017 THE BEAUTY SERIES Beauty from Pain: Book I Beauty from Surrender: Book II Beauty from Love: Book III The Beauty Series Bundle THE VAMPIRE AGAPE SERIES Blood of Anteros: Book I Blood Jewel: Book II Blood Doll: Book III The Complete Vampire Agape Series GOING UNDER SERIES

Going Under: Book I Shallow: Book II Going Under Complete Duo