Chapter Fifteen
Payton
My stomach growls angrily beneath the covers, but I’m not in any condition to move. Dean has his arms wrapped around me, our naked and sated bodies entwined beneath starch white sheets. It’s the most comfortable–and lest I forget, the most natural–feeling in the world. I’m content. Happy, even, and that can’t happen.
It’s not that I don’t believe in happiness, because I do. I see it every time Jaime and Ryan or Meghan and Josh are in the room. It’s just that it’s not for me. Sometimes, life deals you a hand that leaves a void that you’re unable to fill with laughter, kisses, and great sex. And I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve never really had all three of those simultaneously before. With Cole, I thought I had it all, until I didn’t. Even though we were young, the kisses were nice and the sex satisfying, but the communication was definitely left lacking. The laughter turned to tears, and there wasn’t anything he could do to change it.
Now after experiencing sex with Dean? I realize that what Cole and I had was subpar, at best. And it wasn’t just him; it was me too. I’m adult enough to admit that our relationship wasn’t easy or perfect. At the end, I forced the issue that we weren’t meant to be, and I still stand by that decision. Not that I’m writing Dean’s name on the line beside the words The One, but things are definitely a little different this time around. It’s complex and easy at the same time, and that’s what concerns me the most.
I can actually picture a relationship with Dean McIntire. I can’t and won’t go as far as to see white picket fences and two point five kids, but that doesn’t mean I don’t picture him and I snuggled up on the couch late at night on a Friday watching CSI reruns. And that’s why I need to stop this charade before it gets carried away and ends in hurt.
“I can feel your brain working overtime. What are you thinking about?” he asks, his hand drifting down my side and resting on my hip.
“Nothing much.”
“Something tells me that it’s a lot more than nothing much.” Dean turns us both until we’re facing each other. The concern is written all over his handsome face, in his rich, caramel brown eyes. “What’s the matter?”
I guess this conversation is going to happen sooner, rather than later. I just hope he still lets me share his hotel room on our last night in Richmond. If finding an available room was impossible two nights ago, there’s no way I’ll find one now at almost midnight.
“I was just thinking about this thing between us,” I state.
“I don’t think you’re referring to the impressive bulge that’s getting unbearably hard between us right now, are you?” His smirk makes me laugh. It also draws my attention to the fact that his very hard erection is front and center and pressed against my stomach.
“No, I’m not. This thing between us, I mean, even though we’ve spent the last couple of nights together, it’s still not…well, it can’t go any further than just friends.” My heart is hammering in my chest, my brain screaming at me to quit lying, because this could easily turn into something more than just friends.
“Really? Because I was just thinking the complete opposite of that.”
My breathing stalls in my throat, and I start to shake my head. Damn it! I was afraid of this. Up until we shared a hotel room, we were like-minded in the whole ‘a relationship is bad’ scenario. I have to blink rapidly to keep a sudden bout of tears at bay. And I’m not a crier, so why in the hell am I so emotional right now?
“No, hear me out,” he says, putting just a little space between us as he backs up, but doesn’t remove his arm from beneath my head. “I have rules about dating clients. There’s not something in the agency by-laws or employee handbook, but something I determined for myself a few years back. I want to tell you all about that, but not right now.”
He looks thoughtful at me, and I can tell there’s a story behind his self-imposed no dating clients rule.
“When we’re together, you make me smile. You make me laugh. And you damn sure turn me on so much I can’t think straight in your presence. I’m not proposing marriage or a new living arrangement, or anything of that caliber, but I’d love to spend more time getting to know you. I already know you’re incredible, passionate, beautiful, and loyal. There are probably a million more qualities that make you you, and I want to find out what those are.”
“Dean, I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I really like you, but this can’t go further than what it is now.”
“I’m not asking for a big leap, Payton. I’m asking for a chance. I’m asking you to have dinner with me publicly, and maybe if someone asks, you can say we’re seeing each other. Nothing more. I want to be able to call you and talk about your day, and maybe even kiss you whenever I want without feeling like it’s against the rules. I just want to spend more time with you. That’s all.”
God, does that sound nice. I mean, to have someone besides one of my sisters to call when I need to talk or to have dinner with an actual person instead of the hero starring in whatever movie I’m watching.
But could it really be that simple?
He makes it sound so easy, and maybe it is. I’ve known all along that I made my relationship with Cole harder than it needed to be because it was the only way I could think of to protect myself, my heart. And even then, in the end, I felt every broken shard. Of course, that ache in my chest was so much bigger than mourning the ending of a relationship, it was saying goodbye to a dream.
And that still fucking hurt.
But having dinner and talking to Dean doesn’t mean I’m destined to dig up ghosts best left buried. It means I need to be on guard and take this nice and easy. Baby steps, if you would.
Wow, Payton. Bad choice of wording.
Pulling my attention back to Dean, he’s anxiously awaiting a response to his declaration. The way it rolled off his tongue let me know that he’d probably been thinking about it, possibly planning his words for some time now. Me, on the other hand, felt off kilter and caught off guard. Maybe that’s the reason I found myself saying something I never expected to come from my mouth.
“Okay.” I take a shaky breath and blink off the onslaught of tears I feel prickling the back of my eyes again. Dammit, with the stupid tears!
Another deep breath, I get lost in the black speckles in his dark brown eyes. “I really do enjoy spending time with you, Dean, so please know that has never been the issue. I have things, things in my life that have kept me from jumping into an actual relationship. Someday, maybe I’ll tell you about them, but not now.”
“I’m not pushing you. I just want to go home tomorrow and know that calling you before bed is an option.”
“I’d like that.” And I would. Talking to him is so easy, easier than anyone ever before. It makes me optimistic about having someone like Dean in my life.
“Good,” he says before pulling me back against his chest. My stomach chooses that moment to remind me that I haven’t eaten since the light lunch at the convention. The laughter in his chest rumbles against my cheek. “I can’t believe I haven’t fed you tonight before ravishing your body.”
“I’m a big girl. I don’t need you to feed me.”
“I know, honey, but I should have thought of that before I jumped in the shower with you, and definitely before I took you to bed.”
“Did you hear me complaining?” I ask with a smile.
“No complaining, no. I heard a lot of moaning, a little groaning, and my name repeated over and over while you came so hard you almost passed out.”
I slap his shoulder. “Whatever, Mr. Grunter. I did not almost pass out.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t think you could have gotten up off the bed if we had a fire alarm at that moment.”
“No, probably not,” I concede.
Dean reaches over and grabs the phone on the nightstand. “Cheeseburger and fries?”
“I never turn down a cheeseburger and greasy fries. That’s why my butt is so big.”
He sets the receiver back on the cradle and turns stern eyes back on me. “This butt?” he asks, grabbing a handful of my rear. “This butt is the finest ass I’ve ever seen in the flesh. I’ve jacked off more in the last six months to images of this ass than I care to admit, so I don’t ever want to hear you say anything negative about it or the rest of your spectacular body.”
Oh.
I’ve never been ashamed of my body. I was always fine with being a little curvier than my sisters. Not that a size ten is big, but when your other sisters are sixes and able to share clothes, you just get used to being different. I’ve always enjoyed food too much to care about the size of my jeans or the letter on the tag of my shirt.
“Thank you. I’m fine with my size, really.”
“Good, because your size is hot.” To prove his point, he grinds his hard cock against my thigh, making me giggle. “Now, how about some dinner?”
“Yes, please. I’m starving.”
I smile the entire time he phones in an order of cheeseburger, fries, and fried mushrooms. Life doesn’t get much better than a sexy naked man ordering room service at midnight. Except when we realize we have about thirty minutes before our food is delivered.
What’s a girl to do with herself and a gorgeously nude man for thirty minutes?
We’re about to find out.
* * *
There weren’t any awkward goodbyes when we left Richmond, mainly because, as we speak, his car is following behind mine. I mean, we are heading back to the same town.
When he was getting ready this morning to go down for the final seminar of his convention, I finally mentioned that my show finished up yesterday. There was no reason for me to stay last night, except that I wanted to spend more time with him. That was hard for me to acknowledge to myself, let alone him, but it was something I needed to say. Dean seemed pretty happy about my confession if the way he kissed me breathless was any indication.
I felt lighter when he left to go downstairs. With three hours to myself in the hotel room, I called the shop and checked in. Grandma and Rachel both adamantly claim they took good care of my baby in my absence, but it was the way Rachel said she would be happy to have me back that left me curious. I know how my Grandma is, but she can sometimes leave a funny taste in your mouth if you’re not used to her brashness.
I’ve decided there’s a few things I need to catch up on at the shop, but I won’t let myself stay past six o’clock. No, Dean and I didn’t make plans for tonight, but I’m going to have dinner with Abby. She called me out of the blue earlier, and while that isn’t completely odd, it made me realize that outside of sisters’ Saturday nights I haven’t spent much time with her lately.
As we start to approach the edge of town, I pull into the gas station to fill up my tank. Not surprising, the car behind me pulls into the station and parks at the pump beside me.
“Funny meeting you here,” he smirks as he walks over and grabs the pump nozzle. While I swipe my card, he gets the pump all ready and then stands beside me and pumps my gas while I’m left standing there gawking. No one has ever pumped my gas. Well, with the exception of my dad when I was sixteen, but no one else has ever made the chivalrous gesture.
I can’t help but smile broadly at him. It feels kinda good to have someone there to help, even though it’s just pumping gas. Not exactly rocket science.
“What?” he asks, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose.
“You wear your glasses when you drive?”
“Yeah, reading and driving, mostly. Sometimes I just get so used to wearing them I don’t realize I hadn’t taken them off.”
The pump shuts off, and he makes quick work of turning it off and closing my cap. After grabbing the receipt from the pump, I step up until we’re practically chest to chest. “Thank you,” I state before brushing my lips across his.
“I didn’t do anything,” he says.
“You pumped my gas. No one has ever done that for me before. Thank you.”
“No one’s pumped your gas? Honey, I’m not exactly worldly in my dating history, but even I can see you’ve dated the wrong guys,” he quips with a sexy smile.
“You’re telling me,” I reply, unable to wipe the smile off my face.
“It’s getting chilly. Get inside your car and head home. I’m gonna fill up and then get home. Can I call you later?” he asks while grabbing his nozzle and starting to fill up his own car.
“Yeah. I’m having dinner with Abby tonight, but we both have to work tomorrow so it won’t be a late night.”
He walks over to me once more and kisses me. His lips are warm compared to the cold air, but I’m pretty sure it’s the man that causes my blood to heat up and a dampness to flood my panties.
“Talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
Getting in the driver’s seat, I glance over at the man just outside the window. He grins and waves again before turning his attention back to the pump. I’m left with my thoughts as I continue my drive into Jupiter Bay. The air is crisp off the Bay, and for some reason, it feels like I’ve been gone weeks instead of a couple of days. Maybe that’s because I don’t get out of town much.
When you’re running your own small business, you give it everything you have, including all of your free time and energy. But even as exhausting as it has been, the rewards outweigh the stresses. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else with my life, and hope to still be doing this for the next thirty or forty years. I pray I’m just as active as my grandparents are now. You’d never know they were in their early eighties by the way they act and get around.
Pulling into the rear parking lot, I hop out, excited to get inside the shop and see how they did in my absence. When I reach the back door, I can hear voices coming from the work area. I let myself inside the business I grew from an empty building and find my grandparents in a compromising position.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” I yell, desperately shielding my eyes. If I weren’t already inside the back door I would have turned and ran. Instead, I take a step to the right and walk right into a metal shelving unit that houses Styrofoam pieces, excess ribbon, and peat moss. When things start to hit the floor, I don’t even glance up.
“What are you two doing?” I ask, not only shielding my eyes but squeezing them shut in a double attempt to spare myself nightmares.
“Well, we were about to play hide the salami before you interrupted,” Grandpa chastises.
“Payters, you have horrible timing,” Grandma adds, making me gasp. “We’re decent. You can open your eyes.”
Of course, I don’t right away–just in case they’re joking. Things like this you can’t unsee. I learned that the hard way when I was fifteen and forgot to knock. One time. One friggin’ time I forgot to knock.
Well, I never forgot again.
“Why are you two getting frisky in my storage room? Who’s up front taking care of customers?” I blink several times as my eyes adjust to the florescent lighting. When they settle on my grandparents, I notice her face is flushed, her neck is whisker burnt, and his belt is undone. This whole scenario is just wrong on so many different levels.
“Abby’s here. I was taking a break, and Orvie took one of his little blue pills,” she states sweetly. “We just couldn’t waste it.”
“It?” I ask before realizing my question. Then it hits me. “No! Oh God, no! Don’t you dare say anymore!”
“Payton,” Grandpa starts.
Rubbing the side of my head where a massive headache is budding, I say, “It’s almost closing time. Why don’t you two head home, and I’ll help Abby close up?”
“Then we won’t waste a perfectly good hard-on, Orvie.”
Again, I groan. “Please stop saying hard-on and go before I end up in therapy.”
“I’m not sure I should drive in my condition,” Grandpa adds, pointing down at his tented trousers. And I look.
My eyes!
“Thank you for all your help! I appreciate everything you guys did while I was gone. Gotta go check on things,” I holler over my shoulder, it coming out all in one long breathy run-on sentence.
“Are they still at it back there?” Abby asks from her perch atop the barstool behind the counter, her face full of mortification.
“For the love of all things holy, what is wrong with them?” I ask before hugging my youngest sister.
“Nothing, I suppose. I guess if I were in their shoes, I’d pray my husband looked at me and wanted me the way they still do after almost sixty years.”
I concede her point, though that kind of fairytale happily ever after isn’t in my deck of cards. Believe it or not, I’m not a hearts and flowers kinda girl, even though that’s the nature of my business. I enjoy watching a woman’s face light up when she receives a big bouquet from someone special. I relish turning a pile of blooms and greenery into something respectable to honor the memory of someone past. I love the feeling I get when a man comes in and personally picks out something magnificent and then handwrites the card.
But is that for me? No. I learned that life is messy and unfair, and there’s no point in glossing over that fact with beautiful flowers. The problems will still be there long after the flowers die, patiently waiting for the next opportunity to rear its ugly head.
I never used to be this cynical. Back when I was in my early twenties, I believed in the fairytale, the happy ending, the forever love. But life doesn’t work that way. Sometimes, things happen. Things that are out of your control but dictate the rest of your life the same.
“How was today?” I ask, steering the conversation away from the cause of my anxiety.
“You had a great afternoon. I came in after lunch and helped man the front while Rachel made bouquets.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate you all stepping in and helping while I was gone.”
“It’s no problem. I had flextime I needed to use so I took the afternoon off.”
“Well, I still appreciate it. Let me run to the office and do a few things and then we can go. Do you have ideas for dinner?” I ask, grabbing the receipts below the counter.
“Actually, Lexi wants to go too. Chris has a thing again tonight.”
My eyebrows shoot straight skyward and her pretty face shows her concern. “A thing?”
“Something with work. Again. She wants to go eat Chicago dogs down at the Bay. Since she seemed a little gloomy, I told her that was fine. I hope you don’t mind,” she says.
“Of course not. That sounds great, actually. Let me finish a few things up and we’ll head out.”
But when I get to my office, my head is elsewhere. It’s on Abby and the kindness I see pouring from her soul, and the fact that someone uses that kindness without really seeing her. It’s on Lexi and the sadness she tries to hide from everyone. It’s on Dean and the fact that he wants more when I originally said no. And more so, the fact that I changed my mind and told him yes. Why? I know this can’t go any further than the occasional dates, but I can’t deny that I’m drawn to him. He’s like a magnetic charge, slowly drawing me towards him. I just pray I don’t get smacked when we’re slammed together and try to pull apart.
It takes me twice as long as it should have to finish my work, and when I finally glance at the clock, it’s almost six. Shutting down my computer, I throw the rest of the papers on my desk in a bin to file tomorrow. I never got to the order forms, but that’s something I can do tomorrow after I close and take a quick inventory. Rachel’s on point when it comes to numbers, but I always like to look everything over with my own eyes before I order supplies.
My sisters call it a trait of being the oldest. I’m bossy–rightfully so. I’m always right–I am older and wiser. I’m probably a pain in the ass–hey, aren’t we all? Even though I trust my employees with my business, I still have to appease my own stupid curiosity and just verify everything. It’s vital to my mental health. Otherwise, I’d be wondering and stewing all night, and the next thing you’d know I’d be coming in at nearly midnight just to verify that everything is, in fact, fine.
Been there, done that. Have the t-shirt.
Heading out of my office, I hear the harmonic sounds of my sisters giggling, and it brings a smile to my face. “What are you two hens snickering about out here?” I ask, stepping around the corner and finding Abby and Lexi with their heads in one of their phones.
“Grandma’s Twitter page,” Lexi says with a big grin and tears brimming in her green eyes.
“Grandma has a Twitter page?”
“Yep. Of course, no one knew until she mentioned yesterday that she was off to Twit.”
“Twit?”
“Tweet. I didn’t realize she had one until she started following me yesterday.”
“Why on earth does she have a Twitter page? Who does she follow?” I ask, shutting off the front lights.
“Who doesn’t she follow?” Lexi replies with another giggle. “She follows all of us now and a few locals in town. But mostly she follows male movie stars, models, and porn stars. And there’s this guy who takes dick pics and dresses it up and draws faces on them. She actually tweets him directly, complimenting him on his mad hard-on skills.”
“My God! The woman has no shame,” I groan.
“True, but we’ve always known that. You ready? I’m starving for hotdogs.” Lexi grabs her jacket and follows us towards the back door.
We pile into Abby’s little hybrid car and make our way to the vendor along the Bay who sells the best hotdogs and cheese fries. Lexi talks about everyone other than Chris, and Abby talks about everything other than Levi. And I’m not ready to talk about Dean, so what does that make us?
“Did I tell you guys about what happened right before I left for that trade show in Richmond earlier in the week?” I ask after we order our food and wait for it by the window.
“No. I didn’t get to speak to you before you left,” Abby says, sipping her Coke.
“Well, Grandma volunteered to run my monthly financials to Dean. He called me a little later to see what the hell was going on. Apparently, Grandma thought it’d be a brilliant idea to add a few zeros to my income line.”
“Holy shit,” Lexi says.
“Why would she do that?” This from Abby.
“No clue, but Dean called me before I could be arrested for tax fraud.”
“Seriously?”
“I mean, I don’t know if it would be that bad, but if he wasn’t paying attention and he filed those numbers, I could have gotten into big trouble, I’m sure.”
When neither of them respond, I glance over. They look from each other back to me, each with their own conspirator smirk on their faces. “What?”
“You called him Dean.”
“Yeah, you always talk about your accountant, but never by name.”
Dumbfounded, I scramble for an explanation. “He is my accountant. That’s his name.”
“Yes, but you never use it.”
“Whatever,” I grumble, reaching for my food as Hank, the food vendor, shoves it through the window.
“Good response,” Lexi says before shoveling half of her hotdog into her mouth. “I’ll let it slide right now, because this? Seriously, so fucking goooooooood.”
And just like that, we’re stuffing our faces with Chicago-style hotdogs and soda. It’s the perfect way to end a pretty spectacular week. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get a text message from a certain sexy accountant.
One can only hope.