If there was a single word for the male equivalent of a cocktease, Olivia didn’t know it. She did, however, know the two-word equivalent for it.
Asher Coleson.
“Oh well, clearly he’s a cunt-tease,” Macy declared, not caring that they sat in a crowded diner, everyone eating the smothered meatloaf special and listening in. “I mean, that’s classic cunt-tease behavior. A tantalizing kiss and caress here and there. Suggestive body language. Gratuitous nudity. A lot of sexy talk, but no visits to the candy shop.”
Considering there was a neon sign flashing the word OPEN over her candy shop, Ash’s hard-to-get routine was a hit to the old self-esteem. Not even strutting around in her fancy new panties this morning could entice him, though he’d hinted at a creepy masturbation scene, straight out of a low-budget porno. Shooting him down was a knee-jerk reaction, but she’d been intrigued by the idea. In fact, dirty fantasies filled with him stroking himself to completion in front of her had Olivia squirming in those fancy panties all day.
Fancy, wet panties.
Knowing he still had the ability to get her off with a few fingers, the flick of his wrist, and five pleasurable minutes only increased her arousal. But spectacular surprise orgasm from last night aside, if she wasn’t getting any, then neither was he.
Dragging her cheeseburger through a pool of ketchup, she ate with gusto, the greasy diner food a substitute for her unfulfilled sexual appetite.
“Which is why,” Olivia stressed, pointing an onion ring at Macy, “I’m glad we’re going to our new self-defense class tonight. I have major sexual aggression to unleash since Ash won’t fulfill his husbandly duties.” If she could execute several well-placed karate chops to the groin of somebody with testicles, she’d feel better in no time. “And I was late for work this morning, so Marshall was cranky all day—another thing I blame Ash for.”
“Psychological warfare on a sexual level. He’s good.” Macy pointed to her head. “He’s thinking long-term.”
“He’s not good. He’s very, very bad.”
Bad on the brain. Bad on the libido. Bad on the heart.
“And this leads me to my next problem,” she added, leaning across the chipped Formica table. “I have a confession to make.”
“Let me guess,” Macy said. “You have a raging addiction to carbohydrates?”
“What? No,” she replied, offended. Then realized she was double-fisting a cheeseburger and onion rings. “Maybe.” Dropping them both into the paper lined, red plastic basket, she wiped her hands on a napkin. “I don’t really know the man I married.”
Her cousin’s laughter drew the attention of other customers; the place packed during the dinner hour. Shushing her did little good.
Macy looked around the retro diner located across the street from Ash’s office and next door to the gym where their ball-breaking class was held, speaking to the other patrons as if they were all in on a juicy secret.
She pointed at Olivia. “She married a man after only knowing him for all of a hot second, and get this…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Just had the nerve to tell me she doesn’t really know him. Shocking, right?”
“Two months is longer than a hot second,” Olivia pointed out, justifying herself to complete strangers.
Everyone went back to their meals with the exception of a teenage girl sitting near the pie case, wearing braces and blue eye shadow. “My mom’s a lawyer.”
“Thanks, but I’m good,” she drawled, feeling an absurd need to explain herself to a girl with rubber bands on her teeth. “And in my defense, he’s like GI Joe and Thor combined.” She added her own spunky finger point. “Good on me, right? Because he’s seriously hot.”
“They always are, honey.” The elderly woman eating a tuna melt at the table next to them offered insight. “It’s easy to get caught up in the pretty, especially if he’s got rhythm in his hips. But I have news for you, missy.” Dabbing at crumbs littering the speckled tabletop, she licked her finger. “Never be with the best-looking man at the party. They draw far too much attention.”
Macy nodded at the sage wisdom. “From your mouth to God’s ear, ma’am.” She pointed at Olivia again. “That’s part of your problem. Ash is the best-looking guy at the party.”
“Stop pointing that finger at me, or I’m gonna shove it up your…” She left the threat unsaid in deference to her elders. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I still hate him.”
“That may be true, but you love him, too. Hate is the best friend of love, you know.”
“No, hate is the best friend of murder.” Especially when the hated man in question wasn’t putting out.
Tuna melt woman chuckled. “Can I save you ladies some trouble? Find yourself a nice, conservative man. Maybe a banker or a parking garage attendant. Feed him a steady diet of full fat cheese, creamed soups, and red meat. Have missionary sex with him three times a week after the eleven o’clock news, even if the rerun of Friends is the one where Monica and Chandler get married. He might die young from cardiac arrest, but he’ll stay true to you the whole time.”
Macy turned to Olivia, a look of sheer enlightenment on her face. “Holy crap, she’s right. That is the best episode of Friends.”
“I know him, Macy. I just don’t know him. He’s different now.” She shoved an onion ring into her mouth. “And everybody knows it’s the one where Rachel gives birth.” Even though it always made her cry.
“Different, how? You’ve only spent one night together in the last four years.”
Her phone beeped, the text one of a handful she’d gotten from Ash today.
Holding up her phone, she showed Macy the screen. “Well, this for starters.”
The Unit had monopolized him to the point where she’d hear nothing for days on end, totaling weeks, sometimes months at a time. It felt like forever between communication, ages passing before he’d touch base, whether it be a static-filled phone call, his rough voice echoing like he was on another planet, or a single sentence text message, the conversation fragmented and impersonal.
Long or short, she’d treasured every bit of news, relieved he was safe. Sound. Alive.
“This Chatty Cathy is not a man I know,” Olivia murmured, reading the message.
Ash: Dinner. Italian or Mexican? Either way, it’s gotta have meat.
Olivia: Neither. Eating with Macy.
She responded with a simple reply, unlike the others he’d sent today. Those she’d ignored.
He didn’t need to know how her day was or if she’d taken a moment to eat a decent lunch. She didn’t need a reminder to wear her seat belt, or to drive safely, or to take I-8 home because the 94 was backed up for miles due to an accident. And she certainly didn’t feel like hopping a flight to Hawaii for a week.
“I can’t put my finger on it.” She searched for the right words. “He’s less intense, for sure. More loving, maybe. I mean, he’s always been loving and affectionate. That was never our issue. But he was distant, too. Dangerous and untouchable. A bad boy with bossy tendencies and too much self-confidence. Now he’s, I don’t know… clingy, for lack of a better word.” Her lips twisted. “But in a good way, not a pathetic way. A super sexy, romantic way that makes me wanna fuck his brains out and rethink my plans to untie the knot.”
There was a desperation in him. The same desperation that simmered in her. A low-grade boiling for two different things. His to regain something that once was. Hers to let go of what could never be.
Their storytelling session last night proved that.
“I’ve got news for you, sister. I researched his company, and he’s still a bad boy. Dangerous to the max.” Macy reached for her pocketbook when the check arrived. “And so are his employees. There’s this one guy with dimples so adorable, I’d bet money they’re Photoshopped into the picture. And he’s carrying a big gun. That’s not a metaphor. He has a really big gun in his hands. Kinda scary.” A shiver rolled through her. “There should be laws against that kind of handsome.”
Olivia wasn’t listening. She was assessing the last twenty-four hours.
The Unit had been Olivia’s bone of contention during their marriage. A major source of jealousy, The Unit was her husband’s favorite mistress and one she’d been unable to compete with. Ash’s bone of contention had always been Marshall. Based on his hostility this morning, it still was.
Animosity seemed too tame for what sparked between father and son, and Olivia had been in the middle of it since the night she and Ash met. At times, she’d felt like a toy prize they each sought. Ash the gloating winner while keeping a watchful eye on his adversary; Marshall waiting for an opportunity to tug her closer to the vineyard. Something far too easy considering Ash’s frequent absences.
It had come to fruition four years ago. Irony born from tragedy.
Her phone beeped again.
Ash: You’re coming home tonight, right?
Olivia swiped the message away, not responding.
That was another difference. The tiny touch of vulnerability. She’d felt it in his embrace last night, the death-grip hold a silent shout. Ash was not an insecure man. Not just good, but downright great at everything he did, he exuded confidence to the point of irritation. He was charming, capable, and commanding. Capital C’s all around, with the skills to back it up.
“Maybe he is different. Maybe he’s better,” Macy chimed in, happy to opine. “Four years gives a guy plenty of time to think about his shortcomings and figure out what’s really important to him.”
She glanced at her watch before grabbing the check from Macy’s hand. “Doesn’t matter. Too little, too late. We should go. Class starts in five minutes.”
“Are you the same person you were before?” The question was cautious.
“Before what?” she snapped back. “Before her, you mean? Hell no, I’m not the same person. That nearly killed me.” She gripped the booth seat, anchoring herself to something solid. “Some mornings I wake up surprised I’m still alive.”
“Maybe he’s not the same, either. He was hurt, too. It happened to him, too.” Touching her arm, Macy softened the blow. “Have you ever thought about how he dealt with it? How he survived? Maybe it nearly killed him, too.”
Olivia knew she meant well, the questions intended to provoke self-reflection, not accusation. Because of that, she responded with calm truth.
“I don’t know how he dealt with it. He left before I could see for myself. Ran back to The Unit, just like he always did. Like what happened was no big deal. No skin off his back.”
“Olivia.” Her name was a reprimand. “You know that’s not true. He loves you.”
Another text popped up. Then another right after that.
Ash: We had a deal. You don’t get what you want until I get what I want.
Ash: In case you’re confused, that means your sweet ass better be in our bed tonight.
Typical Ash. Large and in charge. Good to know his ego was firmly intact.
“What I know, Macy, is that I’m getting really tired of people telling me that. I wasn’t feeling very loved four years ago. When I needed it. When it mattered.” Sliding out of the booth, she held out her hand. A peace offering. “Now, let’s go kick somebody in the balls.”
But when Olivia’s phone beeped again as they walked the short distance to the gym, she read his latest message and her fortress of hate slipped another notch, something it had done steadily since she’d shown up at his office only two short weeks ago.
Ash: Tell me you’re coming home tonight. I need you. I’ll never not need you. Come home to me.
An inner voice nagged at her, whispering that Macy might be right. That she might’ve been so wrapped up in her own pain, she’d never given a second thought to his. It was that voice, along with the minuscule touch of insecurity in his message, that made her respond.
Olivia: I am. I will.
At least, for the next three months. After that, she was finding herself a parking garage attendant on the double. He might be packing a much smaller gun than her current husband, but at least he’d be willing to take it out and shoot it.
And she’d make sure he understood the value of keeping a promise.
“Holy crap, it’s Dimples. In the flesh.” Macy tugged on her arm, fanning herself. “Oh God, he’s real. He’s really real.”
Olivia didn’t see what the hullabaloo was all about. Yeah, their instructor was cute. But the shaggy blonde mop and strong facial hair game wasn’t anything special. He wasn’t Asher Coleson, for God’s sake. He couldn’t make her vibrate with lust and crazy with rage—at the same time.
“Oh, my God, they’re real. The dimples are real.” Macy peeked at him, watching as he greeted the other classmates with a warm smile. “No Photoshop, no filters, just straight-up freaking real.”
Olivia laughed, tearing her arm away. “Okay, stop saying the word real. And take a deep breath. He’s not that good looking.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Do you need glasses? Clearly being married to one of the sexiest men alive has desensitized you.”
They stood in a small gym, the walls painted flat white, the floors covered in black rubber mats that smelled like bleached sweat. Two men boxed in a raised ring in the corner, their grunts echoing after every thudding punch. A jump rope thrashed at warp speed as a man wearing a plastic suit skipped without missing a step. Beat-up treadmills, stationary bikes, and ellipticals were positioned about the area, but sat empty. The space was mostly filled with rudimentary weight equipment, including thick ropes dangling from the rafters. Apparently there were sadists willing to climb them for no good reason other than it made for a great bicep workout, risking certain paralysis, if not death, should your arms give out and you fall to your doom.
The entire gym looked like a generic fitness center turned medieval torture camp—a perfect location to learn proper nut-cracking techniques.
“Olivia!” Hope’s voice drew her attention and she looked toward the door, seeing her sister-in-law walk in, Caroline and a pretty brunette trailing behind.
Hope had fled Coleson Creek years ago, one week after graduating high school. Ash knew where she was, of course, tracking her the same way he did a high-level terrorist. She could’ve been on a desert island miles from civilization and he would’ve found her, all without breaking a sweat. Hiding from him was impossible, and the family, Olivia included, had taken him at his word that she’d always be okay. Monitoring her from afar, big brother played lookout. Nobody had heard from her until a few months ago, when she’d shown up out of the blue and confronted Marshall.
“It’s good to see you,” Hope said, hugging her. “And I’m so glad you and Ash are back together.” Pulling away, the beautiful young woman squeezed her hands. “He’s not the walking dead anymore. He’s waking up because of you. Beck said he sat in a chair at the table today. I have no idea what that means, but apparently it’s the equivalent of a UFO sighting—unbelievable unless it occurs right in front of you.”
“All true,” Caroline confirmed, dressed in retro workout gear with full hair and makeup. “He spoke more than ten words, too. It’s the damnedest thing.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” The brunette behind them spoke up, her assessing gaze raking Olivia from head to toe. “I’m Donna Gleeson Decker. And you are?”
Olivia shook her manicured hand. “Olivia Coleson.”
“Coleson,” she replied quizzically, glancing at Olivia’s left ring finger. “Are you a cousin? Or an aunt? Or Marshall’s second wife…” Her voice trailed off, confused.
When Hope and Caroline took a wide step back, eyeing them with worried interest, Donna wasn’t the only one confused.
“I’m Ash’s wife.” Tilting her head, Olivia’s smile encompassed all three women. “Okay, what’s going on here? I feel like I’m missing the joke.”
“Ash is married?” Donna’s astonishment made it clear that was unwelcome news.
Caroline raised her hands, speaking directly to Donna. “I just found out about it a few weeks ago. Sam had no idea, either. None of us did. Please, I have small children.”
“I knew,” Hope said, shrugging. “I thought you were divorced. Thank God, you’re not or he’d be in the corner in a permanent fetal position. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I do know he needs you, Olivia. He’s a zombie without you.”
That was true. Hope didn’t know what happened. She’d been long gone by then. The people who did know—Marshall, Rosa, Benny, regular business associates—never brought it up. Not one word was spoken on the subject. It wasn’t forbidden, just not comfortable table talk at dinnertime, either.
They thought their silence helped, that the pain was only present if voiced.
Honestly, it only made it worse.
“Well, this makes an awful lot of sense now.” Donna stepped close. “In the interest of full disclosure, I feel compelled to tell you I’ve put out some feelers in Ash’s direction. I wasn’t aware he was taken,” she added, holding out a placating hand, “and he’s an overwhelmingly handsome man. So tall and virile. They don’t make ‘em like that anymore. Best five o’clock shadow I’ve ever seen. Not to mention those eyes, you know.”
“I know,” Olivia replied. “He’s my husband, I sleep with him at night. After we do other things. Naked things.”
“Gross,” Hope muttered under her breath. “TMI.”
Olivia was taking some serious liberties with the truth, but bless her heart, the jealousy this strange woman inspired was powerful. More powerful than the hate.
“Yes, of course, you do.” Donna smiled woodenly. “As would I, if he were my husband. I dare say he might never leave the bed thanks to my fuzzy, leopard-print handcuffs, but I digress. I want you to know that no matter my perseverance, or my rock-hard glutes and perky breasts, he’s never responded to my advances. Now I know why. He’s legally obligated to you.”
“He is, but I appreciate your honesty.” Olivia grinned, surprised to find herself charmed by a woman who just admitted to bondage fantasies about her husband. “Should he ever succumb to your tits and ass, give me a call and I’ll cut him loose. He’ll be all yours.”
“Aww, thank you,” Donna replied sincerely, as if that was a real possibility. “That’s so nice of you. I’ll do that. And you have terrific taste in men.”
A commanding voice interrupted the bizarre conversation.
“Hello, everybody,” the blonde man said, motioning for them to huddle up.
Several starry-eyed women joined them, the class totaling nineteen eager students.
“Welcome to my women’s self-defense class,” he added, voice confident. “I like to call it: My body, My barrier. And nobody penetrates that barrier unless we give them permission.”
“He said penetrate,” Macy whispered suggestively, speaking up for the first time since Hope, Caroline, and Donna made their appearance.
“My name is Grady Foster, and I’ll be your instructor. Would anyone like to share why they’re here tonight?”
“Grady and Macy,” she mouthed to Olivia, testing the names on her tongue. “Mr. and Mrs. Grady and Macy Foster. That sounds terrible,” she said, pouting. “It sounds like a frozen foods manufacturer. Or a sitcom couple.”
“How about you? The gabby one.” He pinned them with sharp eyes.
“Who, me?” Macy asked, glancing around her.
“Mm-hmm.” He scratched his beard. “You.”
“Well, I heard some talk about my body and… and penetration and…” She hitched a thumb at Olivia. “And she said there would be, well, you know, cojones kicking. And once I get wind of penetration and cojones, I tend to get excited. And when I’m excited, I get gabby.” Dropping her hands, she shrugged. “To summarize, I’m here tonight for the cojones.”
His dancing baby blues moved to Olivia. “Ma’am, does your husband know you’re here?”
Her brows shot up, and she gestured to herself. “Oh, you mean me now?” He nodded, wearing a ghost of a smile, and she grinned back. Somebody had done their research. “No, but don’t worry. I’m allowed to be out after the street lights come on.”
“Don’t worry?” He flashed a full-blown smile, showing off a legit set of dimples that made Macy whimper. “Easy for you to say, ma’am. He doesn’t sign your paychecks.” He rubbed his bristled cheek again. “Or throw a right hook like a motherf—uh, trucker.”
“Excuse me,” Donna piped in, bubbling with excitement. “Will there be sparring tonight? If so, I’d like to be Olivia’s partner.” She looked at her, adding, “Don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t touch your face. I promise. You’re quite beautiful.”
Olivia bit back a gracious reply. It wasn’t a compliment.
“Oh, there’s sparring?” Macy saved her from the awkward moment, vying for teacher’s pet. “You mean like, wrestling? Do you need a volunteer from the class?”
“No sparring tonight, ladies. We’ll save that lesson for a later date. Maybe when there’s not so much, uh, enthusiasm within the group.”
“Good idea, Grady. You’re so intuitive.” Smiling, Macy rocked on the balls of her feet and flipped her hair.
Professional regardless of her blatant flirtation, Grady detailed the course curriculum, and Macy took the time to translate to Olivia, in case she’d suddenly gone daft. “He’s right. We need to learn the basics first. You have to walk before you can run. Also, the chick with three names wants to kick your ass. You better watch your back, girlfriend.”
“Thanks, but I figured that out when she publicly announced her desire to fight me. And you just did the hair flip. That’s two steps away from a blowjob. He’s Ash’s employee. Control your urges.”
“Um, for your information, the hair flip works.” She glanced at Grady, who was talking to the class as a whole while covertly—and continually—checking out Macy’s rack. “I have his full attention now. Considering your dry spell, maybe you should try it.”
Olivia spent the ninety-minute class learning how to eye gouge, rib jab, and crotch kick like a pro. Tools that would be useful should the grinning shark glaring daggers come at her on the dark walk to the car.
More importantly, she spent the time devising a plan to seduce a man she most likely loved, but most definitely loved to hate. And it started with a hair flip and a blowjob.