I guess we can be a little late.

HAVING A GIRLFRIEND IS…AMAZING, but I think it’s only because the girlfriend is Quinn. Friday arrives in a flash and I realize we’ve seen each other almost every day this week. If we don’t see each other during the day, we end up in each other’s bed, and sex with her just keeps getting better and better.

I love that she isn’t clingy; she has her career and understands that I have mine. I love that she creates amazing art. Last night, she told me she was going to try to get some work done before I got there and left the door unlocked for me. When I arrived, I found her in the studio, wearing a paint-splattered shirt with the music blaring and a look of pure focus and concentration on her face. I must’ve taken 30 pictures of her while she was painting before she noticed I was there. I’m going to edit the photos and see if she wants to put them up on her website. Hell, maybe I’ll even put them up on mine.

Tonight is happy hour with the boys and Max asked if the ladies could join us. This used to be annoying, but ironically, I’m glad he asked. I’ve seen Quinn all week long, but I can’t wait to see her again. This will be the first night we’re around our friends as a couple and I know Max and Logan are going to give me shit about it.

In fact, I’d rather get this over with now than wait until later.

Me: Okay boys, I have news.

Logan: You jack off again? That’s not news.

Max: What’s your news?

Me: Fuck off Logan. Like you don’t jack off.

Logan: Tate takes good care of me. You jack off less when you have regular amazing sex, but you wouldn’t know about that.

Me: Actually, I would.

Max: ??? Are you saying you have a girlfriend?

Me: Yes, that’s what I’m saying.

Logan: Are you kidding?

Me: I never kid about sex.

Max: Who is she? Are you bringing her tonight?

Logan: Yeah, I have to see it to believe it.

Me: It’s Quinn.

Two beats go by with no response. No jumping dots indicating that someone is writing a message, nothing, and I know it’s about to start. So, I set my phone down and return some emails while they get their reactions out of their systems. Then I pick it back up and scroll through their responses.

Logan: I fucking told you, Max! You owe me $50.

Max: Quinn? Monica swears she isn’t the relationship type.

Logan: I called it.

Max: Quinn Fitzpatrick?

Logan: Mr. I don’t need a girlfriend when I can fuck a different girl every night.

Max: I can’t believe Monica didn’t tell me.

Logan: Charlie! Where the fuck did you go?

Max: He’s ignoring us.

Logan: Maybe he’s making it up.

Max: Nah, he isn’t making it up. Why would he?

Max: Besides, this is awesome. The girls all get along. It would have sucked if he started dating someone like Candi.

Logan: Oh God, that laugh.

Max: Quinn is perfect for Charlie. She’ll keep him on his toes.

Me: You guys done yet?

Max: She coming tonight?

Me: Yes, she’ll be there.

Logan: This I have to see.

I chuckle as I pocket my cell. Moments later, I hear a knock at my door.

“Come in.”

My boss, Jason, peeks his head through my door. “Got a sec?”

“Of course, what’s up?”

He opens the door up all the way and takes a seat on the other side of my desk. Jason is a heavyset man with salt and pepper hair. Laugh lines are carved into his face, framing his mouth with parenthesis, and his brown eyes are kind.

“Just wanted to touch base about New York. Roger emailed me that he was so pleased with your last meeting. Thanks so much for taking care of him.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” I smile at him. Jason is a fair boss and has given me such support since I started working here. “I’m working on some design concepts for his marketing campaign now. I’ll send them to you when I’m done.”

“You’ve handled this new acquisition well, Charlie. There may be a spot in management coming up, and your name is at the top of my list to fill that spot. I’ll recommend you for the job if you think it’s something you want.”

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “A spot in management?” I’ve never wanted to go into management, but I’m thrilled he has me in mind for a promotion.

“I think you’d make a great manager. The staff all respect your talent and you can make people do things while making them laugh.”

I chuckle. “I appreciate you letting me know.”

He stands up and heads toward the door. “I’ll keep you posted on the opening, and I look forward to seeing your concept. You’ll be going back to New York next week to finalize plans with Roger, right?”

“You got it.”

“Have a good weekend, Charlie.”

“You too, Jason,” I say as he shuts my office door.

Huh. I’m still in shock. He thinks I’m management material.

Managers don’t take pictures though, and I don’t know how I’d survive without taking pictures. I know there are photographers in the company that start in my position and work their way up to management, but I could see myself keeping the job I have forever. I like working on projects, coming up with concepts, taking the pictures, and putting together the ads.

Still, it’s flattering to hear that Jason thinks I could be a manager if I want to be.

The clock tells me it’s time to leave, so I power down my computer, grab my cell, and head out. My mind is still reeling from that brief talk with Jason. As I exit the door, I find it’s raining outside. Spring is in the air and though it’s wet, I stop, tilt my head up to the sky, and close my eyes. I love the smell of spring. The frigid chill of winter is gone, replaced by a warm, fresh scent full of spring blossoms and new beginnings. Most of the people around me are dashing around, trying not to get wet, but I take my time, relishing the feel of the raindrops on my skin.

Just as soon as I sit down in my car, my cell lights up with a call from my mom. I’m in too good a mood for her to spoil it, so I wipe the raindrops off my hands and face and answer cheerfully.

“Hi there, my beautiful mother,” I chirp, hoping my good mood is contagious.

“Charlie? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me, you called my phone, remember?” I chuckle.

“What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing, Mom. I’m just in a good mood. What’s up?” I ask, smiling at the thought of seeing Quinn soon.

“Well, I was talking to Patricia, my friend from Green Briars, and she mentioned that she’s going to the open house at Art Redefined next Sunday. Isn’t that where your friend works? The girl you brought to Green Briars?”

“Quinn? Yes, it’s where she sells her pieces. Are you going?”

“Well, apparently, it’s exclusive to members only, but Patricia was raving about it. Maybe you could talk to Quinn and see if you could get a pair of tickets for me and your father?”

I’ll be damned. My pieces are going to be for sale at this event, and my mother wants to go to it because her prissy friend bragged about an exclusive members-only open house and she doesn’t want to be outdone.

“Sure, I’ll be seeing Quinn soon, I’ll ask her about it.”

“Marvelous. I was afraid you were going to tell me you no longer talked to her.”

“No, actually, Quinn is my girlfriend.”

“Really?”

I’m not sure I like her tone. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s something. You usually flit from girl to girl, since Anna anyway. I never thought I’d see you settle down with one girl.”

“Quinn and I just…click. She’s amazing.”

“Too bad she doesn’t have a better job.”

My smile is long gone now. “Quinn has an amazing job. She’s very talented, as you’ll be able to see if you go to her open house, and if you’re referring to her income, she makes quite a good living off of her talent.”

“I heard she’s divorced.”

I wonder how she heard that. “So what?”

“So nothing. I’d have liked to see you settle down with someone a bit more…refined, someone more like Anna.”

That name again, twice in one conversation. I grit my teeth to try to rein in my anger. “Anna and I have been over a long time, Mom, and Quinn is divorced, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s an amazing woman.”

“Okay, don’t get all prickly on me, Charles,” she reprimands.

“Well it’s difficult not to when you call me to get tickets to an art gallery that you’ve never wanted to go to before, mention my ex-girlfriend twice in one conversation, and insult my current girlfriend.” I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.

“I did not insult your girlfriend.”

“Yes, you did.” Maybe other people let her bullshit slide, but I’m going to call her on it. “It shouldn’t matter what job or income someone I date has, Mom. I can’t help but think your response to Quinn might be different if she were a lawyer.”

“Of course it would.”

“My point exactly.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” There’s that haughty tone again; it grates on my nerves.

“It means that not everyone is a lawyer, and that’s okay, yet you have this attitude that anyone who isn’t a lawyer isn’t as good as you are.”

Silence. Maybe she huffs, I can’t tell, but I’m on a roll now.

“I’m not a lawyer. I know you’re disappointed about that, but it’s just not in me. I love what I do, and I’m good at it—so good, in fact, that my boss just told me he wants me to move up to management when a position opens up—yet you and Dad never care about my accomplishments.” The words are ripped out of me and I’m panting from the exertion it took to say them out loud.

“Maybe that’s because I don’t understand your world.”

“Maybe you could show some interest,” I bite back. “You know what, Mom? Never mind. I have to go.” I swipe to end the call and grip the phone so hard in my hand that I almost want to hear it crack. Then I remember it’s my phone and I’ll just have to buy a new one if it breaks. I blow out a breath, run my hands over my face and through my damp hair, and force my tense muscles to relax.

I need to face the facts.

My mom is a selfish snob.

My dad is not that much better.

Dom and Tabby are okay, but I still end up feeling like an outcast every time we get together.

Then my thoughts drift to Max and Logan. Those guys accept me for who I am, even if I do act like a goofball 99% of the time. Too bad they aren’t my brothers.

You know what, fuck that.

They’re more like family than my actual family is, and Quinn—being with her makes me so damn happy. When she praises me for my talent, it makes me feel like I’m a king, like I could do anything.

Time to go see my people.

 

HUMID AIR FILLS THE bathroom as I step out of the shower. The towel is warm when I go to grab it and I hold it over my skin to chase the goose bumps away. That towel heater was so worth it, my latest favorite gadget. I finish drying off then slip into my favorite purple robe and stare at myself in the mirror. Even now, after working all day and fresh from the shower, I look happy.

My cheeks are flushed; maybe it’s due to the heat of my shower, or maybe it’s due to the naughty thoughts I keep having about Charlie.

My skin, fair as ever, shows what can only be a hickey on my neck. He accidentally gave me one last night during sex. He latched on to my neck while pounding into me and I loved the feel of his mouth on me, the sharp sting when he sucked on my skin. Afterward, when he saw the mark he left, he loved it so much he decided to give me a few more. I open my robe and find several dark blue and purple spots that stand out on my pale skin. One is on the swell of my right breast, one just under my left breast, one on either side of my pubic hair, and one on the inside of my right thigh, near the juncture of where my leg connects to my body. I’m decorated with bruises, but it feels like more, like I’m decorated with his mark, his brand.

There is no hiding the hickey on my neck, but the others are easily concealed with clothes.

Unless…

Unless we play with someone else. They’d see the marks Charlie left on my body.

Why do I like that idea so much?

All week long we’ve been so consumed with each other and our newfound status, I’ve had no time to think about the concept of us being a couple exclusive to each other except when we decide we want to play with a third. He hasn’t brought it up once, and neither have I.

But I’m thinking about it now, and strangely…I like the idea. As my imagination runs away with possibilities of what we could do, my cell beeps, notifying me of waiting text messages.

Yikes, there are a LOT of text messages. Scrolling through, I find several from Charlie and Monica. I click on Charlie’s first.

Charlie: Hey babe, I told Max and Logan about us. Figured I’d break it to them before tonight. FYI

Charlie: I can’t stop thinking about the trail of hickeys I left all over your body. Hope they’re still there.

I smile and hit reply.

Me: Yes, they’re still there. I look like I’ve been abused with all these bruises.

Charlie: More like worshiped. I like my mark on you.

Me: I kind of like it, too.

Charlie: And now my dick is hard. I’m on my way to pick you up, think we have time for a quickie?

Me: I just got out of the shower and I’m getting ready.

Charlie: Perfect. I can dirty you back up again.

Me: We’ll see.

I protest, but I’m aching for his cock. It’s like I’ve become addicted, and there’s no cure.

I click on Monica’s messages next and scroll up to the first new one.

Monica: Holy shit.

Monica: You’re dating Charlie?

Monica: I mean, I knew you guys were sleeping together, but are you ACTUALLY dating?

Monica: Max said Charlie said you are.

Monica: Okay, I realize that sounded grade schoolish, but QUINN!

Monica: I need details. Spill.

I smile as I read her texts. I knew she was going to bombard me with questions, and that’s kind of why I didn’t tell her sooner. I needed time to let this soak in before I had to explain it to anyone else.

Me: Hey, can you talk?

The explanation will go much faster if we can talk instead of text, and not two seconds later, my cell rings in my hand with Monica’s pretty face flashing on the screen.

“Hey you!”

“Oh my goodness! I’m so glad you pulled your head out of your ass! I always knew there was something more between you and Charlie. Tell me everything!”

I laugh at her exuberance. “I hate to burst your bubble, but there was only just sex between us for a while, but ever since that one night at Club Bailar, things just…got intense. We started seeing each other more and more, and it just feels like I can be myself with him, you know?”

“That’s amazing, Quinn! I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks babe. I know you wanted us to get together.”

“Well, yeah! He’s Max’s best friend—it makes it pretty convenient for me.”

I laugh. “Listen, he’s on his way to pick me up now. See you at O’Malley’s soon.”

“Sounds good. Bye.”

I opt to let my hair air dry, running a brush and some product through it to tame my wild mane, but it’s no use—the curls twist this way and that, having a mind of their own. My makeup routine is not long: a bit of concealer under my eyes, powder on my nose and cheeks, cherry red lipstick, and mascara. I don’t have a strong enough concealer to hide the hickey, but I don’t care. A dark part of me wants people to see it, and I have a feeling Charlie would hate it if I covered it up with makeup.

Just as I’m about to go into my closet and get dressed, I hear a knock at the front door. Knowing it’s Charlie, I fasten my robe and look through the peephole. Sure enough, a gorgeous male specimen with blond hair and dimples stands on my stoop. Unlocking and opening the door, I smile wide to greet him.

“Hey, hotstuff.”

“Hey.” He smiles back, lips turning up in a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and my favorite dimples remain hidden. I study his face some more as he walks into my space.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” I can tell he’s trying to shake it off, but something is bothering my usually happy man.

I touch his face, his smooth skin and square jawline. My fingers run over his sensual bottom lip. “You know, a perk of having a girlfriend is that you get to unload on me. I’m a good listener.”

“I know you are.” He stares down at me and I know we’re both thinking about the night he told me about Anna and the baby.

“So spill. I know something is bothering you. What happened? Bad day at work?” My hands travel up his shoulders and wrap around his neck as I hold him to me, pulling him into a hug. His muscular arms wrap around my back, cocooning me with his warm body. His nose digs into my hair and sniffs.

“You smell good.”

“You’re deflecting.” I bring him to the couch and force him to sit then straddle him. He finally notices I’m wearing a robe and his eyes travel down my form, lingering on my nipples.

“Are you naked under there?”

“If you tell me what’s bothering you, I’ll show you,” I taunt.

“Or, I could just open your robe right now.” He grabs the knot in the middle and starts to undo it, but I grab his wrists.

“Charlie.” My quiet voice stills his movements.

He meets my gaze and blows out a breath. “It’s nothing—nothing new anyway. I actually had a great day at work. Jason, my boss, told me there might be a management job opening up and he thinks I’d be a good fit.”

“That’s great, but would you still be designing if you were in management?” I know he loves the creative part of his job.

“That’s the thing, designing wouldn’t be a part of the job. I’d be in charge of projects and approving or declining other designers’ concepts, but still, it’s nice to be recognized, you know?”

“Absolutely, that had to feel good. I know you’d be an amazing manager, but I hope you choose what makes you happy.” I rest my hands on his chest, waiting for him to tell me the bad part.

“Then my mom called.”

“Ah.” Now I understand his mood completely. Talking to my mom always reminds me how much we don’t get along. I’m fine with this, for the most part, but some conversations with her pour salt on a wound I thought had healed up, making me feel a bit raw and grumpy.

“She wants tickets to the open house at Art Redefined, by the way.” He rolls his eyes at this.

“She does? She never mentioned that she likes to go there at that dinner I went to with you.” I’m sure Charlie mentioned the name of the gallery then.

“That’s because she isn’t a fan of art. She just wants to go because her friend from the country club goes and she wants to show her up.”

“I see,” I mutter. Fake people piss me off. “Well, I can get tickets for her if you want me to, or you can tell her we’re sold out—whatever makes you feel better.”

Charlie shrugs and looks away. “I ended up telling her off,” he says quietly.

I turn his face back toward mine. “Good for you.”

“I just told off my mother. That does not feel good.”

“I know it doesn’t feel good, but maybe she had it coming. I’m sure you’ve held it back a million times before now. But if you stood up for yourself, I’m proud of you,” I say emphatically. Dealing with my own parents has taught me how difficult it can be to choose a job they don’t approve of, and even worse, to choose a path in life they don’t approve of.

He wraps his arms around my waist and buries his head in my chest. I cradle him to me, my fingers digging into his hair and petting him. “So, since your pieces will be on display at that open house, do you want to go with me?”

He tilts his head up, looking up at me from where he’s comfortably resting. “Do you usually go?”

“Not every month, but I’ve been a few times. It might be fun for you to watch how people react to your so-called garbage.”

“I want to go to see your pieces.”

“Okay.” I smile down at him.

“Do I get to see what’s under this robe now?”

I crane my neck to check the clock. “We should get going…”

“Come on, I held up my end of the deal, and I want to check on my marks, see if any need freshening up.” He unties my robe and I let him. The sides fall open, cold air hitting my naked skin. My nipples pebble under his gaze and he licks his lips.

“Are you planning to keep me marked forever?” I breathe, loving the way his hands smooth over my skin, finding each bruise and inspecting his work.

“Maybe. I didn’t expect to like it so much, but my inner caveman wants everyone to know you’re mine.”

I didn’t think I’d like the gleam of possessiveness in his eyes so much, but his inner caveman is hot as fuck.

His hands slide up to my breasts, weighing them, holding them, pinching the stiff peaks. I arch into his touch, giving him all the access he needs. I’m sitting right over his crotch and I feel his dick harden. I groan when he leans forward to suck my right nipple into his mouth, like he wants to eat me, and my pelvis rotates, pushing down into his erection.

“I need to be inside you, Red.”

“I guess we can be a little late.”