Chapter 7
Banner
“Myrna was a dirty birdy!”
After the highs of this morning, sorting through Myrna’s apartment all afternoon has been a definite low. At least until I open her nightstand drawer and find her collection of old-lady smut. Hidden underneath her bible is a stack of bodice rippers circa 1980 with titles like Taken by the Sheik, His Captive Princess, and The Pirate’s Prize.
I hold them up for Sofia, who covers her mouth and laughs.
“No. Way.”
I’m sure Myrna would be rolling in her grave right now if her daughter hadn’t decided to have her cremated almost immediately and without a funeral. Grief and tears rise up at not having a chance to say a proper good-bye, but I shove them down. I’ll find a way to make a fitting tribute to her some way, and in the meantime, it’s easier for me to focus on the positives. Like the fact that Myrna had a strong love of capture romances.
Immediately my brain clicks into marketing mode . . .
What if I were to market to romance readers who need a little help with their one-handed reads? I grab my phone and make a few notes about the idea. Oh, and what if I rename the products for different types of lovers—the Sheik, the Billionaire, the Bad Boy, the Real Good Man.
The handheld heroes of Blush you can keep in your own bedroom.
There’s no doubt which I prefer.
I set the books aside, deciding to keep them for my own collection—for research purposes, obviously—and continue through the drawers.
I found the big black cock earlier in the closet on the top shelf. With the silver accents, it could definitely be renamed the Billionaire. Apparently it was too much for Myrna, which is fine by me, because I’m not sure I could handle the visual anyway.
I arrange for all of her clothes, well-made but twenty years old, to be picked up tomorrow by a company specializing in redistributing them to people in need. I keep her favorite Burberry scarf and hat, though, as well as a sweater for Jordana to curl up on.
Myrna would be horrified, but I’m pretty sure she’d get over it if she knew how heartbroken her dog is right now. Luckily, the pup has her own trust, and Sofia is excited to take care of her.
A few more hours of sorting is all I can take before I’ve had enough. I’ve got a stack of boxes I’m shipping to Myrna’s daughter, whether she likes it or not, because it doesn’t seem right to throw the family memories away.
Sofia is feeding Jordy in the kitchen when I go in search of her.
“I’m done for today. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
She lowers the pink dog-food bowl to the floor. “Me too. I’m exhausted even thinking about how much more there is to go through.”
That’s the understatement of the day. Two of Myrna’s three bedrooms are packed with stuff, not to mention closets and cupboards. She had a lot of years to accumulate things, though, so I guess it makes sense.
“You sure you’re good with staying here again tonight?” I ask Sofia as I wind down for the day.
She dusts her hands off on a rag. “I’m not quite ready to say good-bye yet.”
“I know what you mean.” I give her a quick hug before donning my coat and heading out the door. It’s strange to be back in this building, especially knowing part of it is mine and no one can take it from me this time.
Deciding to walk instead of take a cab, I tuck my hands into my pockets and disappear into the crowd of people going home from work. I don’t miss being one of them.
I pick up sushi from a favorite place and carry it with me, even though I’m supposed to bring some to Dr. Lady Lips, aka Dr. Brennan, for lunch tomorrow. Not having sushi is one of the things I really miss in Kentucky, so having it twice in two days is no hardship. But then again, watching a sushi chef doesn’t compare to the visual of Logan grilling a steak to perfection.
Dammit, I miss him.
This is still all so new to me, and I’m lost in my thoughts until I’m nearly to the hotel.
“Banner! Banner!”
I look around to find who’s calling my name. It’s unusual enough that there’s little to no chance of whoever it is calling to someone else.
A tap on my shoulder has me spinning around to face Brandon Sidewalk, a guy I went out with once to a club opening, who didn’t understand that a short skirt was not an invitation to feel me up.
Unfortunately, he’s standing there with a stupid grin on his face, so I can’t exactly walk away. But I can pretend I don’t remember him.
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
His brow furrows. “Brandon Smith. We went out a few weeks back to the opening of Olivesque. I’ve been meaning to text you to see if you wanted to go out again.”
I pretend to dig through my memory bank before letting a look of recognition pass over my face. “Oh, you mean the guy who tried to shove his hand up my skirt without an invitation?”
He takes a step back, shock lighting his eyes. “Uh. Ah. Well . . .”
I narrow my gaze on him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. If you ever want to know how a real man acts with a woman, I’ll let you talk to my boyfriend. Actually, on second thought, he’d probably toss your body down a mine shaft for trying that, so maybe in the interest of making sure he doesn’t spend the next ten to fifteen in state prison, we’ll keep this between us.”
He stiffens, and genuine fear radiates from him as he clears his throat. “Sorry. I guess you’re right. I don’t know you.”
As Brandon Sidewalk turns and walks away, I wonder what I ever saw in the guy to make me accept even a single date. His shoulders barely fill out his suit jacket. His shoes and watch might cost more than some used cars, but they’re pretentious as hell. I know he only bought them because they’re designer.
My list of Brandon’s shortcomings slams to a halt when I realize what I called Logan. My boyfriend.
It’s been a long time since I’ve referred to anyone by that label. I continue toward the glass doors of the hotel as I turn it over in my head. Does he consider me his girlfriend? We’ve never even talked about it. And why would we?
Part of me wants to ask him, and the other part thinks the question is ridiculous. Then again, he thought he knocked me up, so I guess we’ve crossed over some imaginary relationship line, right? I still have no final conclusion when I let myself into my room, set my sushi on the desk, and remove my coat.
Halfway through what they should call an orgasm roll, my new phone rings. I grab it, thinking it’s Logan, but it’s Greer.
“Hey, stranger!”
“Hey, trouble. Sorry I missed your call this morning. It’s been crazy out here. Also, LA traffic can go screw itself.”
“I still can’t believe you want to live there.”
“It wasn’t exactly a tough choice when I considered what was important.”
A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have understood what she meant, but now I do. It’s strange how much can change in such a short time.
“I get what you mean.”
“So, are you going to spill? What’s going on? Are you loving Gold Haven?”
“I’m actually back in New York.”
The phone goes silent for a moment. “Already? You can’t tell me you’re bored with Logan.”
I steel myself to say the words that don’t seem to be getting any easier. “No. Myrna Frances, my old across-the-hall neighbor, passed away.”
“The old bat? The one who got you evicted?” Greer asks, confusion clear in her tone.
“Yeah, except she didn’t get me evicted. She . . . actually, she left me everything, including her apartment.”
Another silence falls between us.
“Are you shitting me?” It seems to be the most astute question to ask when it comes to what happened.
“Not shitting you. I don’t have more money than you, but I’ve got a lot now.”
“I’m so sorry to hear she passed, but wow. That’s just . . . crazy. So you’re staying in Manhattan for good now?”
My answer is quick and unequivocal. “No. At least, I don’t plan to right now.”
“So that means things are going well with Logan?”
“Things are good. I like him, Greer. This is all-new territory for me.”
I don’t have to tell her that last bit because there’s no doubt that she already knows how unusual this is.
“How big is his dick?”
I choke on the spit in my mouth when my friend shoots me a question that would be more characteristic coming from me. “Did you really just ask that?”
“You would.”
“True. Friends shouldn’t let friends settle for guys with small penises.”
For some reason, with Logan as the subject, I find myself less willing to share than I have been in the past.
“Oh my God, you don’t want to tell me,” Greer says. “Either it’s really freaking small or you really do like him, like him. And if I know you, there’s no way you’d fall for a guy with a small penis. It’s against the Banner Regent handbook.”
“I don’t have a handbook.”
“But if you did . . .”
She has a point. “All I’m going to say is this. He’s got Congo beat.”
Greer sucks in a breath because she’s also fluent in the country-by-country penile-size comparison research. Mostly because we made it a game to memorize it just in case we both got to travel extensively and wanted to be sure we had the best chance of getting the good dick.
“Holy shit. I have to go look outside to see if people are ice skating, because I think hell just froze over. You really do like him.”
“I’m so fucked, Greer.”
“Why? It’s not a bad thing.”
“He lives in Kentucky.”
“And so do you,” she points out.
“For now. But what if . . .” I trail off.
“What if what? What are you worried about?”
It’s time to face my fear. “What if he realizes I’m not enough for him?”
Another beat of silence passes before she responds. “I may have only met Logan Brantley once, but he didn’t strike me as a stupid man. You’re more than enough. He’s fucking lucky that you’re with him. You are a prize, Banner. Don’t ever forget it.”
In that moment, I’m reminded that sometimes you just need a pep talk from your best friend to set your world straight.
“You’re right. I am.”
“Good girl. Now, get your attitude back in place before we completely swap roles here.”
“I love you, G.”
“I love you, B.”
“I miss you. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Same to you. Now, go call that man and have some filthy phone sex so he’s thinking about you all night while you’re hundreds of miles away.”
“Damn, look at you being the dirty girl. It suits you.”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
We say our good-byes and hang up.
I contemplate her suggestion while I finish my sushi, and then open my texts with Logan.
BANNER: Can you talk?
My phone vibrates in my hand thirty seconds later with a call rather than a text.
“Hey, Bruce.”
“Hi.”
“You’ve got some good timing. I’m just taking a quick break before I dive back into work.”
I look at the clock. It’s almost seven in Gold Haven. “How’s the project going?”
“I’ve got a shit load more work to do on this car than I thought. We’re all hustling, and I’m putting in more time than anyone because that’s how it goes. How are things up there?”
“I put in a lot of time at Myrna’s. It’s . . . harder than I expected.” The burn of tears stings behind my eyes.
Logan’s voice softens. “Of course it is, babe. She might’ve been a crotchety old lady, but she was your crotchety old lady.”
He’s exactly right. “I think what makes it harder is that I let her die thinking something horrible about her. That’s not something I’ll ever be able to change. It’s been driving me crazy.” A sniffle escapes, and I’m sure the tears will follow.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I wish I could hold you and tell you all the right things.”
I snuffle again. “It’s okay. I know it’s my fault. I just have to live with it.”
“She’d be proud of you, Banner. She wouldn’t have left you everything if she was holding a grudge.”
I think back to what the lawyer told me about Myrna changing her will almost weekly. “Or maybe she just didn’t have time to change her mind.”
“Stop, Bruce. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Learn from it. Honor her memory by carrying out her wishes.”
“How’d you get so smart about stuff like this?”
“I lost a lot of brothers, and death never gets easier. All you can do is try to do better in the future if you leave something unfinished in the past.”
The tears are drying up, and I go on to tell him about the romance novels and Jordana staying here with Sofia.
“I like dogs. I’ve always worked too much to have one, and I didn’t want to be the kind of business where I had one sleeping in the waiting room all the time. If Sofia doesn’t want to take her, you can bring her home.”
Home. He says it so easily because that’s what it is for him.
Is it mine now too? Because New York feels less and less like my home every hour that I’m here.
“I’ll ask her and let you know.”
“That sounds like a plan.” He yawns into the phone.
“You’re working too hard.”
“No such thing when you own your own business.”
“Did you even stop to eat?” As soon as my question is out, another thought follows. Emmy Harris better not try anything while I’m gone. We covered the pie situation, but I wouldn’t put anything past her.
Logan Brantley is nobody’s fool and picks up on my tone. “What are you really asking?”
I’m not beating around the bush. “Did Betty Crocker Barbie try to bring you a picnic basket tonight because I’m not around?”
He laughs, and I want to punch him for it. “Jealous, Bruce?”
I force out a laugh of my own. “Of course not. I mean, no more jealous than you’d be if I told you I saw Brandon Sidewalk outside the hotel.”
Logan’s laugh dies. “That fucker who tried to put his hand up your skirt?”
It actually shocks me that he remembers that, and so quickly. “You remember that?”
“Of course I remember the list of guys I’ll need to take care of if I ever meet them.”
Something about his macho words gets me going. “Oh yeah? So you are jealous?”
“I told you, that’s my pie. I don’t share my pie with anyone.”
“And I told you I don’t share either.”
“You throw attitude at me like that when you’re around, it’s gonna be hard for me not to want to fuck it right out of you.”
Instantly my panties are soaked, and I remember Greer’s advice about filthy phone sex.
“Are you in the garage all by yourself?”
“Of course.”
“Is your cock hard?”
Logan releases a breath and turns the question around on me. “Is your pussy wet?”
“Dripping.”
He groans into the phone. “Fuck, baby. I wish I had you riding my face right now so I could taste all that sweetness. And for the record, I’m rock fucking hard.”
I picture Logan in the garage, his hand in his ripped jeans as he jacks his cock. “I wish I could see you.”
“Strip. I want you naked, lying on the bed, legs spread so you can bury your fingers deep in that sweet pussy. I want to hear you make yourself come as I tell you how fucking sexy you are.”
I put the phone on speaker and drop it on the bed so I can peel off my jeans, shirt, panties, and bra. After tearing the duvet off the bed, I move the phone up higher and prop myself up on a pillow.
“If you could see me right now, you’d know that I’m doing exactly that.” My fingers trail down my body to slide through my wetness.
Normally, if I were doing this without a phone audience, I’d tease myself more, but with Logan’s words echoing in my head, there’s no need.
His low growl comes through the phone at the same time as my index finger circles my clit. I plunge two fingers inside.
“How tight are you?”
“So tight, but I want more.”
“You want my cock, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you bring one of your toys with you?”
“I never leave home without one.”
“Go get it.”
I pop off the bed, eager to follow his orders because I need this orgasm more than I need vodka. And that’s saying a lot.
Once I’ve retrieved a prototype from my bag, I return to the bed and the phone. “I’m ready.”
“Lay back down, spread your legs, and tease yourself.”
“Are you jacking yourself off right now, Logan? I need a visual.”
“I’m strangling my cock with my fist, but it’s nothing compared to how hard your pussy grips me when you come.”
I moan, loving his dirty words.
“That’s right, baby. Tease that pussy, because you’re going to fuck it and we’re gonna come at the same time. I want the whole fucking city of New York to hear you scream my name.”
I writhe on the bed, the vibrations of the toy on my clit already dragging me toward the edge, but I need it inside me.
“I’m ready.”
“You’re ready when I say you are.”
“Please, Logan.”
“Fuck, I love the sound of you begging. Push it inside; tell me how it feels.”
I slide the vibrator into my slick entrance, and kick up the intensity of the G-spot massager.
“Oh God. This won’t take long,” I tell him, my voice shaking.
“Fucking right it won’t. You feel it on your G-spot?”
“Yes. Oh my God, yes.”
“Don’t forget to play with that sweet little clit. This is gonna go fast and hard.”
I reach down and toy with my clit as I fuck myself with the vibrator. My moans are met with Logan’s heavy breathing as he jacks himself off.
“I wish I could see you, but I can picture you in my mind, and you’re so fucking beautiful.”
The tidal wave of pleasure surges. “I’m not going to last long.”
“You don’t need to. Come hard, baby. Come hard and let me hear it.”
I kick up the vibrations to the next level, and my scream pierces the room. “Logan!”
He groans loudly into the phone, followed by garbled words, and I picture thick, ropy jets of semen landing on the hood of a car. Who knew that would be so sexy?
I pull the vibrator away as aftershocks rip through me, and curl up on my side. “Did you come on a car?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“Did I scream loud enough?”
I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “It’ll do for now, but this isn’t going to be the last time.”
“What did you say when you came? I couldn’t understand.”
A few beats pass before he replies. “Something I’d rather tell you in person.”