Chapter Seven
Payton
My legs are shaky as I make my way from my car to my house. I feel like I just completed a marathon, all rubbery limbs and uneven breathing. I know walking away from Dean was the right thing to do, but why does it always feel like my dog died all over again every time I turn around and he’s not there.
I can’t justify a relationship with him, or anyone else, when it won’t end the way I want it to. Because it will end. Why get involved with someone, potentially falling in love with him, only to have it end a short time later? Who would willingly subject themselves to that kinda torture? As soon as he finds out about my secret, he’ll be gone.
They always are.
After unlocking my door, I let myself in, setting my computer bag and purse down on the table. The light is on above the sink, just the way I left it when I headed in to work this morning. It’s a subtle reminder of my independent state. No one comes or goes but me, no one leaves their dirty clothes on the floor but me, and no one pays the bills but me. It’s quiet, just the way I like it.
Until the silence takes over.
Turning around, I scream when a shadow falls on the kitchen floor.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” AJ says, her hands covering her heart.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, willing my heart rate to drop from stroke level.
“I stopped by to say hello, but you weren’t home yet. I let myself in.” Figures. “Where have you been? Working late?”
My cheeks blush involuntarily. “Yes.” The one word comes out a croak. I’m sure she’ll see right through my lie.
Her eyes turn all squinty as she stares, reading me like one of those romance novels she’s always raving about. I keep my eyes trained on her, fighting the urge to shy away from the scrutiny. Finally, her eyebrows shoot into her bangs. Damn her and her Summer detective skills.
“Why do you smell like cologne?” She steps into my personal space and takes a giant, overly dramatic whiff around my neck.
“I…what are you…that’s not…what?”
“You smell like a man.” She steps back in and takes another whiff. “A very nice man.”
I turn around and grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with tap water, greedily chugging half the glass. “Must have been from one of my customers. I had a male customer in the store right when I closed,” I answer, averting my gaze.
“And what about that whisker burn on your neck? Did that customer fall into you with his face before he left?” My hand instantly wraps around my neck, rubbing against the sensitive skin. I feel the flames burn beneath my hands, realizing that she’s right.
Turning and straightening my resolve, I say, “Maybe he did. Maybe he tripped and rubbed his stubbled jaw against my neck. You know, I could have caught him, saved him from falling completely down and injuring himself.”
“You’re a regular Florence Nightingale. I’m sure he’s at home right now, handwriting his thank you card for saving him the insurance deductible.”
I laugh at her sarcasm, which she responses with her own smile. “So?”
Exhaling, I grab my water and walk into the living room. I don’t have to look around to know she’s following me. Taking my seat on the couch, I fold my legs beneath me and get comfy. I let out a long, deep breath before I speak. “There’s this guy,” I start.
“Of course there is,” she quips.
I offer her a quick smirk. “He’s…well, he’s kinda great. We have this killer chemistry, and frankly, the sex is amazing.” We both laugh. “Like hitting a Grand Slam in game seven of the World Series amazing.”
“God, when was the last time I had World Series sex?” she says absently, almost as if saying it to herself.
“I can’t answer that, but I can tell you that if you have to ask that question, it’s probably been a long time.”
“If ever,” she mumbles, taking a drink of her own glass she helped herself to. “So,” she adds before clearing her throat, “if he’s so great, why are you here and not with him getting whisker burn on other parts of your body?”
I clench my thighs together at the thought of Dean’s stubble dragging along the sensitive skin between my legs. My sister stares at me, waiting for me to continue. I exhale deeply. “It’s really complicated. I’m not really looking for a relationship, and he’s kinda in the same boat. It could never go anywhere, so why try?”
AJ looks at me like she doesn’t understand anything I just said. “Wait, what? First off, why wouldn’t either of you be interested in a relationship, and second, why wouldn’t it go anywhere? You’re amazing and anyone would be lucky to have you.”
My heart beats wildly and I smile automatically at her compliment. “Thank you. It’s just…complicated, AJ.”
“Yeah, you said that. So tell me something else.”
“We kinda work together.”
“Wait, you don’t have a male employee so it has to be someone…” She leaves the sentence hanging wide open like a door for me to walk through.
Another deep breath. “Dean McIntire from Corbin and Denton.” The words practically fly from my lips like a fighter jet taking off an aircraft carrier. My eyes widen at the confession, surprised that I’ve finally spoken his name aloud in a manner other than pertaining to my taxes.
“Why does that name sound familiar? Wait! Isn’t he —”
“Yes!” I exclaim, cutting her off. “Now you see, right? You see why we can’t have a relationship.” And while I do feel that we should keep it professional, that’s completely Dean’s hang up, not mine. Mine is more personal. Very personal. Something else I’ve never spoken to another soul alive. Well, besides Cole.
“That’s not working together; not really. You can totally diddle on the side with someone who does your taxes, Pay. I say if it’s World Series sex, then diddle away!”
“Anyway, he has a rule, and he’s right. It won’t happen again. What’s going on with you?” I ask, searching desperately for a redirect. Anything to turn the spotlight away from me and towards one of my sisters. It’s actually one of my specialties as the oldest sibling. “How come you haven’t been having World Series sex?”
She chugs a bit of water and shakes her head. “I went out with the drummer from Levi’s band last weekend.”
Levi is my littlest sister, Abby’s, best friend. They have a thing for each other. We all see it and know it, while they, apparently, choose to ignore it. He’s in a local band as a guitarist and backup vocalist, and therefore has no shortage of women eager to keep him company afterwards. It kills me to see the sadness in Abby’s eyes when she sees him with other women, but she’s too afraid to do something about her mega crush. I’m sure she’s terrified of wrecking their friendship. So instead, she chooses to be miserable.
Go figure.
Pot, meet kettle.
“Why didn’t we know you were going out with him?” I ask, interested in why she kept this from all of us.
“I didn’t want it to be weird for Levi or Abby if things didn’t go well,” she states.
“And things didn’t go well?”
“I fell asleep.”
I give her a look, confused as to where she’s going with this. “On the date?”
“Afterwards. In bed.” I blink several times before she continues. “You’d think a drummer in a band would have excellent stamina in bed, right? I mean, it’s so clichéd and practically a rule. Well, this wasn’t even close to World Series sex, Pay. I. Fell. Asleep. It was elevator sex, but with a sprint for the finish line. I don’t even know if he realized I was there or not. When I realized he was pounding the hell out of me in a frenzy to get himself off, I totally faked it.”
“You faked an orgasm?”
“Hell yes I faked an orgasm! Then I grabbed my clothes, told him I was coming down with something contagious, and got the fuck out of there!”
I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. “Laugh it up. It was horrible. He was a two-pump chump. I bet, start to finish, it was a total of four minutes. His idea of foreplay was to shake his ass at me when he stripped off his skinny jeans. It was like I was expected to stick a dollar bill down his tighty whities”
Laughter. Oh God, I can’t breathe. I’m laughing so hard tears are rolling down my face. “That’s horrible,” I finally choke out through fits of giggles.
“It was. So my point is, not everyone gets to experience World Series sex. If you find a slugger who hits a grand slam, then you should definitely round the bases as much as humanly possible.”
“What’s with the baseball analogies?”
“You started it. I don’t even like baseball.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching whatever dramedy is playing on the Hallmark Channel. I don’t even really notice she’s still there until her stomach growls, drawing my attention from the television. The clock on the wall says nine-thirty, which completely surprised me, considering I’m usually in bed around now.
“Do you want to order food?”
“No, I better get home,” she says, standing up and stretching. “I’ve still got papers to grade for tomorrow.”
I follow as she walks the short distance to my front door and slips on her coat. “Thanks for stopping by,” I tell her, reaching for the knob. “Oh, and what I told you about you know who? Can we keep that between us?”
AJ gives me a direct look, her matching green eyes full of compassion and understanding. “Of course. As long as you don’t say anything about the drummer.”
“Mum’s the word,” I say, opening the door. She steps out onto my little porch before I remember part of my conversation earlier with Grandma. “Oh, wait. I’m going away for a few days next week to some big florist convention. Rachel is going to work full-time, but my only other option for help is Grandma. I was going to ask Jaime because she used to work there, but she’s so busy sucking face, and other things, with Ryan. Do you think you can pop in and just check on things for me?”
I know AJ understands what I’m asking. It’s not that I don’t trust my grandma, but I’ve spent my entire adult life building up this business and I want to make sure it goes smoothly in my absence.
“Of course. I’ll stop in on my lunch break each day and after work. I don’t think she’ll be too suspicious if I bring her chocolate,” she says with a wink and a smile. Grandma’s sweet tooth is legendary, and using that to our advantage is something my sisters and I learned a long time ago.
“Thanks, A.”
“You’re welcome, Pay. Get inside and dream about baseball,” she hollers before slipping into her car. Even in the darkness, I can see her smile reflecting in the moonlight.
Making my way back into the house, I lock up and head for the kitchen. Even though it’s late, my eating schedule isn’t exactly what you’d call normal. Not when you put in crazy hours to maintain a small business. I grab the bread and peanut butter out of the cabinet and the jelly from the fridge. This was my favorite sandwich growing up, and surprisingly, I’ve never gotten tired of it. Even in college, I could eat a PB&J every day and still want more.
I wouldn’t mind taking a bath and relaxing a little, but it’s already getting late for a weeknight. No, ten o’clock isn’t exactly late, but for me, it is. I opt for a quick shower instead. As I strip in my room, I zero in on the red burn on my neck that AJ noticed. Memories of being laid out on his desk while he slid inside of me assault my mind, a tingle of something more than awareness slips down my spine.
The warm water does nothing to ebb the ache in my body, especially after I replay the entire scene over and over again in my head, and by the time I’m washed up, I find myself spending extra time washing a certain area. How can a woman go from completely sated to crawling out of her skin in need only a few hours later?
It’s him.
Being single most of my adult life, I’m not ashamed to admit I have to take matters into my own hands every now and again. And by hands, I mean my fingers or my vibrator. Since I’m without Waterproof Waylon, that’s my seven-inch vibrating, swirling, and pulsating vibrator that leaves me in a quivering pile of hormonal goo where I stand, I have to resort to the old fashioned way.
Closing my eyes, I picture a big hand skimming down my belly, angling towards the place I ache. I slide my fingers between my legs, letting the water cascade over my body. I recall the way his breath tickled my neck right before his mouth skimmed from my collarbone to my jaw. I slide two fingers inside my body, while my other hand concentrates on my clit. A groan slips from my lips and my body starts to shake as I remember his words. “Being inside you is fucking heaven.”
I explode around my fingers, tightening and pulsing as the orgasm sweeps violently through me. Not worrying about anyone hearing me, I vocalize my release, Dean’s name slipping from my lips. It’s always his name, or at least it has been since I met him in his office last spring. It’s his body I picture, his dick I pretend to ride, or his mouth I feel between my legs.
Washing up a second time, I shut off the water and wrap a big fluffy towel around my body. I’m still weak in the knees and my legs are shaky, but I manage to make my way into my bedroom. I don’t even bother with pajamas; instead I go for the one shirt I sleep in more than I probably should. I fasten a few of the white buttons before bringing the material up to my nose and inhaling. It doesn’t carry his scent anymore, but I can picture it in my mind so vividly, it’s as if he wore the garment just yesterday. Of course, being in his arms a few short hours ago helps trigger that particular sense.
I set my alarm before climbing into bed. I’m a belly sleeper usually, but with him, I reveled in the feel of his body against mine as he spooned me from behind. Of course, it didn’t hurt that it was the perfect position for a midnight romp when all he had to do was basically surge forward and into my wet, waiting body.
And there I go with the memories again.
Closing my eyes, I try to think about things other than Dean. Mrs. Simmons was so surprised when I delivered a beautiful bouquet from her husband in celebration of their twenty-ninth anniversary. The nursing home residents loved the winter holly and berry mix I arranged for their dining room tables. And I picture the delight written on the face of a high school senior whose boyfriend sent her three roses for her birthday. All smiles that are part of my day, but it’s Dean’s that I can’t get out of my head right now.
And it’s his that will likely fill my dreams again tonight.