Love and Lingerie

by Lacey Black

In case you get hungry later. Love, Kitty

  My eyes well up with tears as I think about the woman I’ve come to care a great deal for. I wonder if she knows how stupid her son is, or if she has yet to find out we’re not…together anymore. Not that we were anything official before, but we’re definitely not anything now.

  Popping the lid off, I slip it in the microwave and set it for one minute. Instantly, the scent of deliciousness starts to fill the room, making my stomach growl angrily, and reminding me I missed lunch. It’s after four, so I guess technically, this is an early dinner.

  I shove the first bite of chicken and broccoli casserole into my mouth, moaning with absolute pleasure as it explodes against my tongue. There’s cheese too in her dish, and before I know it, I’ve shoveled the entire thing into my face as if it were an eating competition. As I take a quick drink of water, I make a mental note to send Kitty a thank you for the food. Then, I turn on my favorite boy band playlist and get to work.

  Inventory is busy work, plain and simple. It probably doesn’t need to be completed quarterly, as I’ve always done it, but you’d be surprised how many pairs of nice panties get up and walk away.

  By eight in the evening, Free sends me a text.

  Free: You still alive? You haven’t hung yourself with a lace bra, have you?

  Me: Why would I waste something so pretty on something so horrible?

  Free: I was joking. I don’t think you’d actually do something like that. I just wanted to make sure you’re actually counting thongs and not sitting on the floor, surrounded by pretty things, and eating a tub of chocolate mint ice cream.

  Me: Never! I don’t even like chocolate mint.

  Free: *gasp* How are we even still friends?!?!? *insert shocked face emoji*

  Me: Because of the awesome discount you get at KMG!

  Free: Oh, yeah. That. I do love the discount. *insert heart-eye emoji*

  Me: Anyway, is there a real reason for you bugging me at eight at night on a Saturday? I do have a life, you know.

  Free: You do know you’re texting ME, right? I know, for a FACT, that you’re probably wearing pj’s and blasting your horrible 90’s boy band playlist.

  Me: That’s creepy.

  Free: *sigh* At least put on a bra.

  Me: What?!?!? Why?!?! No one is here and it’s practically a law when you get home, you’re supposed to strip off your bra and fling it somewhere in the room!

  Free: You speak the truth.

  Free: Except…

  Free: Wait for it…

  Free: You ready?

  Free: Here goes…

  Free: You’re not actually at home. *gasp*

  Free: I’m sorry to have to be the person to tell you! I know you’ve given your heart and soul to that business, but it’s okay to go home every once in a while. In fact, it’s highly recommended.

  Me: Shut up. I go home. I have a dog to take care of.

  Free: But you don’t deny that you’re wearing pj’s and your bra is flung somewhere in the back room, right?

  Me: *insert middle finger GIF*

  Free: That’s what I thought. Anyway, inventory can wait. I think you should go home, open a bottle of wine, turn on some Kardashians, and relax in the comfort of your own space for the evening.

  Me: Kardashians?

  Free: They make everyone feel better about their own lives. We all know this. Why do you think everyone watches their programs?

  Me: *grumbles* Fine. I’ll put my clothes back on and head home.

  Me: But you’re finishing this inventory next week.

  Free: Deal.

  Me: I love you.

  Free: I know you do. I love you too. That’s why I’m rescuing you from…you.

  Me: *insert Grey’s Anatomy hugging GIF*

  Free: You’re my person. Now, go home and shower. Drink wine. Watch bad reality TV. And don’t even give Mr. Bad In Bed another thought.

  I can’t help but smile.

  Me: Done.

  Me: Except…

  Me: He wasn’t bad in bed.

  Me: He was actually really, REALLY good…

  Free: I knew it! He totally has that “I can rock your world in five seconds flat” look to him.

  Me: He does.

  Me: Anyway…

  Free: Stop thinking about him.

  Me: I can’t.

  Free: I know.

  Me: I miss him, and I hate that.

  Free: Because you love him.

  Me: …

  Free: It’s okay to love him, Harp.

  Me: NO IT’S NOT! He hurt me!

  Free: He did. He’s a guy and he’s stupid and his dick isn’t big!

  Me: But it is! Really big!

  Free: I figured. Share a pic next time? *insert devil smiling emoji*

  Me: No! And there will be no next time.

  Free: If you say so.

  Me: You are all over the place.

  Free: Yet, you still love me.

  Me: I do.

  Free: Go home.

  Me: Fine

  I toss the phone onto the floor beside me, rubbing my eyes. I glance down at the pj’s I’m wearing (she totally called it) and at the bins of panties around me. She’s right. This can totally wait until Monday.

  Standing up, I stretch my tight back, hating how my muscles protest the movement after spending the last couple of hours on the floor. I slowly make my way to my laptop, shutting down the playlist, bathing the room in silence.

  Only, it’s not silent.

  There’s music.

  And it’s getting louder by the second.

  The twangy country vocals of Tammy Wynette billow through the wall. My body instantly straightens, my blood swooshing in my ears. I stand there for several seconds, making sure I’m not hallucinating. Nope, definitely not. Coming through my wall is the exact same song the Devil next door downloaded on my laptop to play on repeat.

  “Stand by Your Man.”

  The irony isn’t lost.

  “Oh, hell no!” I yell, angrier than a mama bear whose cub was just kicked.

  I grab my keys, only seeing red, and take off out the front door. I barely remember to lock the door before I storm down the sidewalk, not even noticing my feet are bare.

  When I get to the front door of the hardware store, I yank it hard. It doesn’t give, though. It’s locked. I pound on the door until my fist hurts and I’m worried I’m about to break the glass. But no one comes to the door. How could they hear over that stupid song blasting at full volume?

  I turn around and head back to my store. There’s a back door and one that leads to the apartment upstairs. If I throw on my sandals, I can head out back and beat down the door until the jerk answers.

  Just as I approach the building that’s positioned directly between his store and mine, I notice the door cracked open. The windows are covered with paper, but I can see a sliver of light shining through the crack and landing on the sidewalk before me. I don’t even give myself a chance to talk myself out of it. I reach for the door and fling it open.

  When I step inside, I stop in my tracks.

  The building is done.

  And it’s…beautiful.

  Two large display cases sit directly in front of where I stand, both empty. There’s a matching rack on the left wall, with satin covered hangers. Those are empty too. What draws my attention next is the stunning bench positioned directly beneath the window. It’s stained to match the displays, and has beautiful etchings on the side that remind me of a flower.

  Huh.

  I definitely didn’t think Latham was the flower kinda guy, but whatever floats his boat.

  The music is loud, but I’m able to ignore it. I step farther inside and see the back half of the room filled to the brim with product. There’s tons of new items all on new displays, and I have to admit, it looks amazing. Latham did a great job at turning this space into a showroom for his new lines. While I m
ight hate his guts and wish I could twist them with a fork like noodles, I’m proud of him for turning this old building into something useable again.

  I don’t hear him, but I can feel his eyes on me. It also dawns on me the music suddenly isn’t nearly as loud as it was before. In fact, Tammy is at a much lower, respectable volume. I glance to the right, and there he is.

  Latham.

  He’s leaning against the wall, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he watches me. I’m so overwhelmed with seeing him I can’t even seem to find words. He looks…good. His scruffy jaw is a little longer than normal, but it totally works for him. His gray T-shirt is still molded to his impossibly hard chest, and his jeans fit in all the right places. He looks as gorgeous as he did the first day he strutted into my store, ready to give me a hard time.

  I’ve missed that.

  I’ve missed our stupid pranks.

  I’ve missed the sass and the frustration.

  I’ve missed him.

  So much.

  His eyes have me trapped in a trance where only he and I exist. I couldn’t look away if I tried. He doesn’t move from the wall, but there’s no missing the way his jaw tightens and his back straightens. “What are you wearing?” he finally asks, his voice familiar, yet so different at the same time. It’s thicker, as if he’s pained.

  That’s when I glance down.

  And gasp.

  I’m wearing the tiny little pajamas that say Kiss Me Goodnight across the chest. And speaking of chest, my nipples are hard, the ring clearly visible to Latham, God, and anyone else who wanted to see.

  “You went outside like that?” he growls, his jaw ticking as he says the words. He pushes off the wall, taking a step in my direction. Then another. He moves until he’s standing directly in front of me, his eyes burning with passion and need.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I take a step back, but it doesn’t help. I can still smell his soap and feel his eyes raking over my body.

  “That doesn’t help,” he pleads. I glance down and realize I’m pushing my girls up and out of the tank top.

  I quickly straighten, drop my arms, and adjust the top. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize,” he whispers, the words kissing my skin like a breath of air. “I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

  I quickly avert my eyes, not really knowing what I should say or do. Who would have thought? Me, Harper Grayson, unable to find words for probably the first time in my life.

  “Will you hear me out?” he asks softly.

  Part of me wants to say no. Run away. Hide from the apology.

  But the other part – the bigger part that sings to my soul and has my panties already wet – really wants to know what he has to say. In fact, I need the answers. I don’t say anything, but nod my head.

  He places his hand on my lower back and guides me to the bench. The feel of his hand on my skin, burning me through the thin material, has my body going haywire with need. It’s been almost three weeks since he’s touched me, and dammit, if I haven’t craved his touch.

  Latham waits until I’m seated before sitting next to me. He keeps a respectable distance between us, even though I’d rather have the touch. I don’t move, though. I’ll have a clearer head if he’s not touching me, and I don’t need the distraction his touch evokes.

  “You look beautiful,” he finally whispers, raising his hand and setting it on the side of my face. His warm palm soothes my soul and brings tears to my eyes.

  I shake away the emotions. “You were saying?”

  He sighs and drops his hand, but only to take mine. Latham sets our joined hands on this thigh and takes a deep breath. “I fucked up. Bad.”

  I sit back and wait. Wait for the moment he confirms what I suspected: he was using me.

  “I lied to you, but not with my words. I lied by omission.”

  That has my attention.

  “The day I installed your new computer system was the day I overheard you and Free talking about the building next door. I had just come back from my realtor’s office a few days before and was told I was the only one who knew about the building being for sale. So when I overheard you and Free making plans, I was confused. And a little upset. I thought the deal was as good as done, but all of a sudden, it wasn’t.

  “I should have told you I was bidding against you, but we were barely tolerating each other then, and I couldn’t see past that. You drove me absolutely crazy, but only because I wanted you so fucking bad that it hurt.”

  I look into his eyes, gauging his sincerity, and find nothing but honesty.

  “Even when I wanted to fucking kill you, I wanted you more than I needed my next breath,” he continues, the hint of a smile on his lips.

  My hands start to shake a little at his admission, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He just holds them tighter, gently rubbing circles over the tops of them.

  “When we were lying in bed that last night and you confessed what happened in New York, I knew I needed to come clean about the building. Even if I lost it, I was more afraid to lose you.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” I asked, interrupting.

  He sighs deeply and closes his eyes for a second. “Because I was stupid. I was planning to tell you when we got home from the cookout. I got a call from Pete while we were there and found out I had won the bid. I knew I needed to tell you, before your realtor could give you the bad news. Unfortunately, she was quicker than I was.”

  I hold his gaze and ask the question that has been burning in my mind for nearly three weeks. “Were you sleeping with me for information?” I’m pretty sure I’m not breathing as I wait for his answer.

  “No. Absolutely not. I was sleeping with you because I had fallen in love with you.”

  My eyes widen at his confession.

  “No, cancel that, it’s not entirely true. I was sleeping with you because I have been in love with you since high school.” He blurs in front of me and I realize it’s because of tears. “That was the only reason I was sleeping with you, Sweetheart. Not to get information. Not to get a leg up on the building. Not because I needed to scratch some itch. Because I was in love with you and it was the only way I could tell you.”

  His finger swipes at a tear that trails down my cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me that?” I ask with a sniffle.

  He laughs, but it lacks humor. “Well, I tried, but you kept cutting me off. But the short of it is, I was an idiot. I knew you were pissed, and rightfully so. Somewhere in my stupid, pea brain, I thought it would be better to have that conversation in private, after you’d calmed down so when you kept cutting me off, I just shut up.”

  I gape at him. “So you just let me think and believe you were sleeping with me for intel?”

  “I’ve already admitted to being an idiot, Harper. It was the wrong thing to do, I know. I should have tried harder to come clean and confess right there, but I didn’t. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, and I panicked. I tried to get in touch with you after so we could talk, but you wouldn’t answer. That’s when I realized I had truly fucked it all up.”

  Glancing down, I confess, “I was too hurt to talk to you.”

  “I know.”

  “That’s why I didn’t answer the door either.”

  “I know that too.”

  “But then you stopped trying,” I remind him, realizing just two days after our fight, he went radio silent.

  “I didn’t stop trying, Sweetheart. I just realized I needed to bring out the big guns,” he says, waving his hand around him.

  I follow the movement, trying to piece together what he’s saying. “What does that mean?”

  He quickly stands up, taking my hands in his, and leads me to the middle of the room. “Welcome to the new addition of Douglas Hardware…and Kiss Me Goodnight.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Latham

  I can’t breathe as I wait for my words to sink in.

  Harpe
r glances around, first to the back half of the building that’s filled with product for the hardware store. Then her eyes swing to the front half of the building, the part that’s still empty of merchandise. “I don’t understand,” she whispers, tears filling those gorgeous blue eyes once more.

  “This is ours. Together.”

  Her eyes meet mine and her mouth falls open, but no words come out.

  So I keep going. “See, we both had a dream. Yours was to expand your business so you could bring in more product, right? Local vendors and new things that would cater to more than just those individuals seeking lingerie,” I say, watching as she nods her head in confirmation. I already knew that, though. Yeah, I figured it out on my own just by being around her, but I’m not ashamed to admit I recently talked to her best friend for a little more intel.

  “Well, I bid on this building for much of the same reason. Numbers were down, and the business was suffering. Dad was worried our small family-owned business wouldn’t survive without some sort of change. He mentioned the building being for sale, and I sort of went with it. I felt like it was my only option to save the business I had grown up in.”

  “I’m glad you won,” she says, catching me off guard.

  “You are?”

  “Yeah,” she replies with a small smile. “I would hate to see it close down. It’s a staple for our community, and whether the residents realize it or not, this place needs your store.”

  I swallow over the lump that forms in my throat. “Well, thank you. But I also realize if you had won, I could have still made it work. I could have reorganized the store and figured out how to carry more product in our existing space. I could have gotten rid of the stuff that wasn’t moving. I just had it in my head I needed this in order to achieve it. I was wrong.”

  She glances around, really taking in the building again. “This is stunning,” she says, a smile on her totally kissable lips.

  I turn us both so I’m gazing directly into her eyes. “I want to share it with you. Because I love you and want to spend my life with you.”

  Again, those tears fill her eyes. I hate them, honestly, especially because I’m the dick who put them there. Unless they’re the good tears, the ones my sister has talked about. The ones that actually mean she’s happy and not sad.