Chapter Eleven

Teala

I’m dripping sweat pacing the lobby of the studio, a watering can in the shape of a flamingo in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. I love my plants. I keep them alive. I’m not an animal person yet. Give me a complicated houseplant and I’ll crush that shit every single time. I spray one large flowering plant and water the soil of the one next to it.

Charlotte rushes in and halts when she sees my appearance. “I knew where I was picking you up from, but I didn’t think you’d be fresh from a class, Teala,” she scolds.

I look down and shrug. It’ll dry fast.

I stow my watering items once I splash the orchid on a low shelf. “I’ll throw on my sweater and I’ll be good. It’s lunch. Not tea with the queen,” I reply.

She blows me off and makes a beeline to my computer behind the counter. My friends have been my friends for so long a lot of the normal lines are blurred when it comes to boundaries. Most of the time I don’t care, but since my new relationship sham I’m finding that I notice things I never did before.

“I have to see if the package is delivered yet. I’m trying to intercept before Tim comes over,” she explains. She knows the password to unlock the computer.

“Your cell phone not working?”

She doesn’t respond right away. “It’s in the car and I just thought about it. Why?” She leans to the left to peek at me from behind the large Mac screen. “You don’t want me on the computer?”

I lick my lips. “I don’t care what you do. It was just a question.”

My mom rounds the corner. She’s fresh from the shower and has on a cute maxi dress. She hands me my sweater with a megawatt smile. Charlotte beams at my mother and hops off the stool to give her a hug.

“Oh, sweetie, you look amazing! Teala told me about your promotion. Congratulations!” My mother coos at my friend. “You couldn’t make the class? It was so good. Teala really did a fantastic job!”

Ahhh, my mother. She compliments my friend, but then feels guilty so she works in a compliment for me, too. It stems from my self-conscious teenaged days. I like hearing nice things about myself too much to tell her she doesn’t have to do it anymore.

Charlotte brushes down the sides of her sundress. “Thank you, Viola,” she says, looking down at the floor. My mother’s beauty makes most people uncomfortable. “You look just as beautiful as ever. Teala always runs great practices. I’m hoping to catch one next week.” My mother and Charlotte dive into a full-on conversation, so I disappear to straighten myself using the makeup bag I leave under the counter for times like these.

A little powder, some mascara, a brush pulled through my hair a few times, and I’m ready. I wonder if people view me like they view my mother. I know I don’t affect people in the same manner she does. The truth of the matter is I would have attracted a different man, a good man by now, if I did. It reminds me how absurdly stupid my father is and a rush of rage enters my system. He’s a man who doesn’t place value on things that matter, one who doesn’t appreciate what he has until it’s gone.

Macs hasn’t called or texted in a couple of days. Not since he’d sent the skydiving photo. It’s taken everything in me not to send him a random photo. My stomach turns when I think what he must be doing while on his work trip. I wonder how many women he’s been with, how many lips he’s kissed like he kissed mine. Not that a kiss can change anything. That type of fairy tales doesn’t exist in my world, but kissing Macs was a devastating blow to my ego. His lips on mine cause a palpable weakness. I would have bought anything he was selling. I get angry thinking about it.

He’s a forbidden fruit. As soon as I have sex with him I’ll be able to leave him and never look back. That’s what I tell myself anyways. I know he’s getting back from his trip sometime today, but I didn’t tell my mom in case him showing up to meet her didn’t work out. I’m glad I didn’t count my damn chickens before they hatched. The blush and lip-gloss is applied and I look halfway decent. Prettier than most women, I’d fathom a guess. It’s not conceit if you know it as a truth.

From the locker room in the back of the studio, I hear the rumble of a male voice in the lobby. My heart skips a beat and then another. Charlotte laughs. My mother isn’t as obvious as my friend, so I can’t hear her voice. She’s too ladylike. Laying a hand over my chest, I gather my wits. It has to be him. If it’s not, I will not be upset. I will not be upset. If it is him, why wouldn’t he text me? What type of man shows up at a woman’s work without a complimentary call or message? It’s plain rude.

I grab my bag and swing the door open in an exaggerated huff. I play at nonchalance as I round the corner. It’s twenty degrees cooler up here where the heaters aren’t pumping. My skin prickles at the cool blast and I stop short when I see Macs Newstead.

He’s talking animatedly to my mother while Charlotte stands off to the side biting her lip, ravaging his body with her gaze. I stay still, undetected for the moment. The man takes my breath away. In jeans and a T-shirt he does casual better than any man I’ve ever met. I smell his cologne—a mellow musk with a hint of sweetness…like brown sugar. His gaze finds mine over the top of my mother’s head. I swallow down the lump of hesitance and smile.

“What are you doing here?” I try for annoyance, but it comes out more Elle Woods than anything else.

Macs presses his lips into a firm line as he lets his gaze dip to my body. He doesn’t even hide it in front of my mother. She turns to look at me, but immediately looks back at Macs. She’s deciphering body language, my face. She’s picking apart this moment so fully I know I’ll hear an earful later. I can’t care, or take my eyes off him. He’s looking through the surface—it’s as if he’s seeing inside, my every thought entering his own.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he says.

My mother faces me again. That draws my focus. I clear my throat.

Mom says, “I invited him to lunch with us. I hope you don’t mind, honey.” She already knows I don’t mind. Viola Sebrof just planned our wedding. She blinks, her smile widening. She just picked out my wedding dress. Another smile. She clamps her hand over her mouth, like that has the ability to hide her excitement. “Are you ready to go?” she asks, finally gaining the good sense to live in the now instead of her dream world.

I nod at her and roll my eyes. She smiles again, the grin melting all annoyance.

“Macs, I see you’ve met my mother.”

“Did I ever,” he replies, waggling his eyebrows.

She didn’t catch it, but Charlotte did, and my friend laughs.

“What’s funny?” Mom asks. “Charlotte introduced me to your friend. Why didn’t you tell me he was so—” she stutters.

This is going downhill fast. I have to nip it in the bud.

“Out of contact?” I supply for her.

Macs steps out of the circle they’ve made around him and approaches me. He’s doing it again. Moving like he owns the world. I close my eyes for a second or two.

He lays a hand on my shoulder. The warmth sends shockwaves to every part of my body. The butterflies in my belly turn to vultures, with long wings and big, pecking beaks.

“I’m sorry. I got busy at work,” Macs whispers.

I know they heard.

“Do you want me to come to lunch with you?” At the sincerity of his voice, I glance up at his face. Dimples greet me.

“Don’t use those things to get what you want. Of course I don’t mind if you have lunch with us. I mean, you might regret it at the end, but this is what we’re doing, right?” I ask, speaking so he is the only one who hears. “I wasn’t sure what was going on. You kind of dropped off the map there.”

The smile falls off his face. He has this stoic supermodel face. Blue Steel without trying and no duck lips. I make a mental note to use this as teasing arsenal for later. He knows how good-looking he is, but I’m not sure he knows how everyone else sees his beauty.

“I apologized already,” he says. It’s the only explanation I’ll receive.

I nod. He doesn’t even owe me that. The lines with this thing are blurring too. The lines of my whole life are one big fuzzy mind-fuck. “I’m starving. Let’s go,” I remark, grasping for control.

He takes my hand in his, and I don’t miss how tightly he’s holding on.

Charlotte and my mom ask Macs a million questions. He answers some, is cheeky with others that he can’t answer, but he’s completely disarming. I find myself smiling at him while he talks. My mother notices. She is beaming like a lighthouse after lunch is finished. She tells Macs stories about me from when I was small. This is when I realize she’s planned more than my wedding today. She might have her grandkids named as well.

It’s my fault for not giving her anything of substance all of these years. No boyfriends. No reason to believe I was ever ready to take the next step with a man. She sees a man like Macs and my interest in such a man and it’s all over. Maybe that’s my problem too. Even if it’s fake, for the first time I’m letting myself wonder what is normal in a relationship. What I realize is that it’s not that bad. Other than my heart being on the line and the severity of what that could lead to.

Macs holds me against him as we walk out of the café. It’s now starting to get busy, and I’m glad we chose the time we did. “I’m going to take a walk around the Gaslamp, Tay,” my mother explains when we exit to the street. My apartment is only a few blocks over and she has a key.

Charlotte says she has to go stalk the mailman, but not before waggling her brow, and Macs and I are left staring at each other on a sidewalk filled with people.

“What now?” I ask. A car horn blares, startling me. Macs is unaffected. I wonder if his hearing is messed up from being around gunfire and explosions. I bet he has psychic powers and predicted the horn would go off. Oddly enough, that’s a more rational hypothesis.

He clears his throat and looks over my head. Flicking his gaze back to me, he asks, “It’s the third date?”

I grin. “Do you know what that means?”

Eyes narrowed, he pulls me against his body, cradling the side of my face in his large hand. Macs has fire in his eyes, desire so wild and feral it causes me to lose my breath.

“Where?”

“Not the sidewalk, please,” I reply, widening my eyes. I have to say it. I can’t read him right now and if he really wanted to take me on the sidewalk, I’m not sure I could stop him.

After kissing me on the lips long and hard, he leans to my ear. “I need you. I’m desperate for you.”

I want him too. “My apartment? I mean, I can’t promise my mom and Charlotte won’t meander in at some point, but we can be quick?” I hike my thumb behind my shoulder. “I feel like I’m propositioning you right now.”

He shakes his head. “I want you for longer than that. It’s third base. I need to take my time.” He looks up at the tall buildings surrounding us, his gaze feverish. “A hotel?”

I step out of his arms. “A hotel? Seriously? I’m not a prostitute, Macs. I was just making a joke about propositioning. Ha. Ha. You know?”

He can’t be serious with a hotel.

“I never said you were. Normal people go to hotels, too. You don’t have to be a lady of the night to frequent the fine establishments.”

I shake my head. “I’d rather be quick at my house. Or…we could go to your house?”

Macs looks at me in a way he hasn’t done before. You’d think I’d suggested a visit to a proctologist. He’s met my mother. I assumed we were past this. I understand his need to keep his private life private, but this is a normal occurrence in a real relationship. Why can’t we have it in our fake relationship?

“I brought you into my home,” I add on.

He shakes his head. “That’s different. You bring all of your…men there.”

I scoff, pulling out of his arms. “I have to go, Macs. Call me later?”

He grabs my bicep, his grip loose. “No, no, no. Are you sure we can’t go to a hotel? I know there’s one several blocks over. I can drive us.”

Do I give in? I want his body, but I want his respect more.

“Call me,” I repeat. My voice waivers, but he’s too wound up to realize I’m on the fence. I’m seconds away from being his call girl. He’s a complete one-eighty compared to how he was in front of my mom and Charlotte. “Yeah?” I ask, prompting him to make up his mind or just freaking agree to call me later so we can get on with our lives.

He’s still staring at me, like I’m a freak on display. I have nothing to be self-conscious about, and I still find myself running my hand through my hair and smoothing my lips together, back and forth.

“Fine,” he growls. “I’ll drive.”

“Fine what? You’ll call me?” I smile at him.

His scowl doesn’t budge. His eyes narrow even further through his irritation. Macs bites his bottom lip. “We can go to my house. My living room,” he explains. “Not my bedroom.”

I jump up once and clap my hands together. “I’m so excited!”

He grunts and furrows his brow. Stepping back into his space, I lean up on my toes and put my lips against his. I’ve wanted to kiss him since he sucked his full pink lip into his mouth. His lips move against mine and he takes me against his solid body immediately. His hard length presses against my stomach and the anticipation is almost too much.

“No sex,” I say. It’s more of a question, even though I know we’ve played by the rules this far and he won’t mess it up now.

Looking around, he makes sure no one is looking before he readjusts his bulge, then he takes my hand and leads me to his car.

I text my mom and let her know that Macs and I are grabbing some dessert and I’ll see her at the apartment later. Charlotte texts me thirty seconds later. She’s obviously still with Viola. Third date, Tay. You know what that means? She follows up with a smiley face. I should be a real bitch and ask her to explain, in detail, what it is I’m allowed to do.

Instead, I text back, Everything but sex?

Macs is busy driving. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. He’s zoned into it like I’m not even sitting next to him. I watch him while he’s busy with traffic. I try to remember the last time I was with a man as beautiful as Macs. It’s been a while. I’d have to break it down by sections. A body as perfect as Macs’? That one is easy. Moose. A face as attractive? I’m not sure I’ve ever been with a man with a face quite like Macs’, but maybe one other. He was a bronzed professional surfer. He had blue eyes and the most defined, sculpted chin I’d ever seen. He was an awful lay. He called me “dude” after he came on my bed sheets. Now that I’m thinking about it, that makes him sort of awful. I decide he shouldn’t make any of my best lists for that reason alone, his Adonis chin be damned.

Everything goes. NO penetration by penis. Because you’re so prolific I’ll add, no penetration by penis in ANY holes. Charlotte’s text is more graphic than I expected.

Don’t call it that. It’s a cock. I reply to her message right away, making a noise of disgust. Any holes would imply he can’t put his cock in my mouth hole. Allowed, right? I smirk.

“What are you groaning about over there?” Macs asks.

I jump in my seat a little bit. I looked away four seconds and he’s already tuned into me.

“Penis. It’s such a horrible word,” I tell him.

He laughs, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s frustrated.

“When is the last time you’ve had sex, Macs?” I ask, letting my curiosity get the better of me.

He swallows, and then works his jaw.

“It’s been a while?” I ask. This realization makes me giddy even though I shouldn’t be. I don’t want to be excited he hasn’t banged any other chicks recently, but I already know I will be.

Charlotte texts back that blow jobs are permitted, even though she’s sure my mouth is on it right now.

He releases a drawn-out sigh. “Before you,” he whispers.

“You’re such a liar,” I clap back.

“I don’t lie about sex, Teala. I committed to this.”

My heart skips a beat. I let my mind replace the word this with you.

“It’s the longest I’ve gone without sex since age sixteen.”

Silence fills the car as I weigh my response. “I get the commitment to holding up our charade, but why not have sex on the side?”

We’re on a long stretch of road without any other cars around. He glances over at me. “That would be too easy. I thought you knew me at least a little bit by this point. Challenges are sort of my thing. I committed to our pseudo relationship and maybe part of me was curious about how it would be if it were real. Not that it is real,” he explains. “Make no mistake of that.” His voice doesn’t sound so sure.

“Of course it’s not. I mean, you did just have lunch with my mom and give me an orgasm by dry humping me against my bedroom window. What’s real about that?” I retort. I watch his face. The corner of his lip quirks. It feels real. He knows it. I know it.

“I need a distraction for the next five minutes,” he says. “That’s how long until we get to my house. I might explode,” he says, wincing as he readjusts his hard-on.

I giggle. “Do you trust me?” I bite my lip.

Macs furrows his brow as I lick my lips and circle my mouth with my pointer finger. His eyes pop open wide. “If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, the question should be do I trust myself.” He rubs his hands on the leather steering wheel up and down. “Go. Do it,” he says—the quickest decision that ever came to fruition. He leans his seat back using the buttons on the side panel of his door.

I unfasten my seat belt and bend over to start working on his button and zipper. His shaft is pressing against his jeans uncomfortably. I pull it through the fly of his boxer briefs. It’s just as large as it feels through his pants. It’s silky, with veins and a robust head. I do have a good comparison, so when I say his dick is beautiful, it is. Wrapping my hand around his girth, I watch his face. It’s a mask of determination and lust. His fists flex around the steering wheel, causing a cracking sound.

“Suck my dick,” he says. “Suck my fucking dick,” he repeats. Everything below my belly button turns to mush.

Typically I’d object to his order, but I’m so turned on. He’s waiting for me. I’m the only one. Right now at least. Even if it’s just for now, he is a monster of desire, and I can’t wait to see exactly what he can do with every part of his body. I lick the tip, swirling my tongue in small circles. At first contact, Macs groans, a guttural noise piercing the air in the cab of the car. My core clenches in response to the primal noise.

I let my mouth work down the shaft a bit before I start pumping my hand at the same time. I pull away to look at him while I keep working my hand up and down. The corner of the center console digs into my stomach, and I readjust my positioning.

“I’m sort of good at this. I figure I should warn you in case you think you’ll be the hero here,” I say.

He smirks, his eyes now so hooded I think I may combust from the desire I see there.

“I’m always the hero. Now suck my dick. I’ll tell you if you’re too good.” He’s playing. He has no clue how dangerous I am. Not in this regard.

I shrug, sliding my hand up around the head of his cock and all the way back down. My spit is lubricating and it’s running dry, so I bend over and, using precise aim, I let a mouthful of spit fall on the tip of his dick. He moans. I suck and use my hand at the perfect speed. My lips shield his softness from my teeth and I work him into a complete and utter frenzy. When I sense he’s getting too close, I back off with my hands and lick the underside up and down in long strokes. Macs is bucking his hips, trying to get me to swallow him whole. I wonder how long it will be until he releases his grip from ten and two and pushes my head with one hand. It’s only been a couple minutes and Macs is tapping out. Not tapping my shoulder to let me know he’s coming, actually moaning that I need to stop before he blows his load all over the Italian leather interior.

He’s breathing in huffs and puffs blown out of his mouth at an erratic pace. I lean up, wipe the string of spit from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, and retreat to my seat.

“FUCK!” Macs yells, a huge smile on his face. He slams his palm on the steering wheel. His eyes widen. “You suck dick like a goddamn professional. We were joking about it before, but fuck. Can I lock you in my closet?”

I laugh. “I should take offense to that, but I’ll run with the compliment. You’re not locking me anywhere.” I shake my head.

His grin is wide and confusing. When he looks over at me it’s like he’s viewing me for the first time. “What the hell are you, Teala Smart?”

I grin. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m mostly your worst nightmare.” I tilt my head in the direction of his cock, still ramrod straight and begging for more attention. “Want more?”

“Fuck!” he yells again. He shakes his head, still grinning like a lunatic. “We’re almost home,” he says, readjusting his dick so I can’t see it anymore. My face must fall, because he responds, “Baby, you can have so much more of that. However much you want. All of it. Anytime you want. Let me park the car. If I thought I could safely get us there and come down your hot fucking throat, I would have let you continue. I think my whole body was buzzing.” His eyebrows are raised and his dimples are on full display. “Jesus, your mouth.”

He rubs a palm down the front of his unzipped jeans. “And we better do it fast before I get blue balls again. God, I want to come in you so badly,” he says, shaking his head.

“I’m more than a mouth, you know?” I should have downplayed my skills. This always happens.

His dimples disappear. “I know.” It’s a simple response, but it insinuates so much more. “Trust me, I know.” He pulls into a long driveway.

His house is beautiful. It’s a ranch style home with landscaping and lots of tools and sawdust out in the front patio. He parks in front of the two-car garage and explains that he has so many projects going on this weekend with some friend named Tahoe, he had to use his garage to prep. He usually parks his vehicle in there otherwise.

His sexual excitement turns into something else as we approach his front door. He starts talking faster, explaining why certain things are the way they are even though I never asked. He avoids looking at me as he pulls out his key. It hangs from a Louis Vuitton key chain and holds nothing else but the fob that starts his car. He pushes the door open and motions for me to walk in first. You can taste the hesitance in the air. I feel like he’s going to push me out of his world at any moment, decide it’s a horrible idea to have me in his life now that coming down my throat isn’t on the forefront of his mind. Because that’s all I’m truly good for. I’m almost sorry it’s the third date because after this he’ll be less and less enthralled until we have sex and then he’ll be done with me.

“I want you to know how much this means to me. I don’t let people in my world,” he admits.

I hear his keys hit the table in the entryway as I look around. It’s beautiful. Even in the dismantled state it’s in, I’m able to see his vision. The ceilings are high and everything is open. The walls are a crisp white and the furniture he does have is tasteful, expensive. The scent of sawdust and new paint is overwhelming. I wrinkle my nose.

Macs is watching my face. “What? What is it?” He cranes his neck to see my line of vision.

I see a door down the hallway. It’s closed. “It’s beautiful. I love the entrance.” I point to the glass doors that open to the beautiful California view. “The eau de construction is strong, that’s all.” Facing him, I place my hands on his strong shoulders. “You’re pretty awesome with your hands,” I say, hoping the compliment will lighten the mood. It doesn’t. His eyes dart to the closed door and then back to me.

He swallows. “Want something to drink? I have beer or water.”

I raise one brow. “It’s the middle of the day. Beer?”

“I’m feeling real squirrely right now, so I hope you don’t mind if I have one.”

He leaves me for the fridge, pops the top off a brown bottle, and downs it in several gulps, his head tilted toward the ceiling. When he finishes it, he stares at me, unblinking. I press my lips together and wait for him to say something.

“Maybe I’ll have one more,” he finally says. He does. Then he looks at me again, like my face holds the answer of what comes next.

I laugh. “This is ludicrous. If you have to get drunk I shouldn’t even be here.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not getting drunk because you’re here, Teala. I’m getting drunk because of what it means.”

“Still want to have our third date?” he asks, pulling his T-shirt up to expose his abs. He bites the dark, cotton fabric, like men in fashion magazines do. With his abs flexed he poses so casual, so fucking drool-worthy, so over-the-top, and he gets away with it. He tosses the shirt onto the counter, with his tongue caught between his teeth.

I blow out a breath. It’s as hot as a Channing Tatum movie. More so, actually, because I can touch this body, can do whatever I want with it. “How am I supposed to say anything but yes when you don’t play fair? You’re over there with your goddamn abs and dimples and precision stripping skills.” I motion to his body.

“Babe, you played dirty first. Your mouth is like a fucking dirty poker game. One you’ll win every single time.”

I wrinkle my forehead. “Thanks, I guess. Third date?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

“Let’s go to my bedroom.” He rushes me then—all muscles and stolen breaths in between teeth and kisses. “It does smell like work out here.”