by Cora Kenborn
Prize student.
Committed and faithful.
Convinced my hard work would pay off, I’d tried out for the solo in our end-of-the-year recital. It was my time to shine. Finally, I’d be the beautiful swan.
And where did it get me?
At the back of the line as ugly duck number twenty-seven while Wendy Jarvis pranced to the front of the stage with the grace of a pregnant rhino.
Wendy Jarvis, Lindsey Lovell, Zep LeBlanc, Roland Christopher Bordeaux III, and Brandi with a fucking “i” all taught me that no matter how hard I worked, in the end, the deck was always stacked against me. It was better not to risk being stuck at the back of the line as duck number twenty-seven again than to put myself out there and have my heart crushed for the third time.
“Enough,” Savannah said, passing a finger back and forth between us. “This stops right now. I’ve got enough upheaval in my life without adding a stupid fight with my sister. Truce?”
A smile played on my lips. “Truce. Just promise me you won’t self-sabotage, okay?”
“Deal,” she agreed, giving me a curt nod. Staring at me in silence, she narrowed her eyes and grinned. “When you give Jim the same fair shot.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Mine,” she said, grabbing her keys and heading toward the door. “If you and Jim don’t make up and start fucking the mad out of each other, I’m quitting and working at Sizzler.”
After taking an extended lunch, Savannah returned with takeout for the entire office and a shopping bag from Victoria’s Secret. When I raised an eyebrow at her, she dug in with gusto, flinging at least fifteen pairs of underwear into the air.
As it rained lacy thongs, I leaned back in my chair and flipped my pen between my fingers. “Hit the sales, did we?”
Rare silence passed as she twirled a red G-string around her index finger. “Staking my claim.”
I waited for her to say more as I stifled a laugh.
This ought to be good.
Rolling her eyes, she pulled the crotch back on the thong and flung it like a sling-shot between my eyes. “It’s simple, Ads. Men can’t resist a thong.”
“Sav…” Groaning, I scrubbed my hands down my face. “You know using sex to get what you want is the wrong thing to do, right?”
She looked at me like I’d asked her to skin a baby with a spoon. “Oh, I already have what I want. This is for insurance purposes.”
“Bad idea.” Turning his pencil upside down, Zep pushed a pair of zebra striped boy shorts off his desk.
Savannah jerked her head around and glared at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said it’s a bad idea,” he repeated, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “Men don’t like to be played like that, Sav. That’ll backfire, trust me.”
Our gazes bounced back and forth between heat and distrust. I flinched at Zep’s double meaning, swearing that a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. Shaking his head, he kicked the boy shorts across the room and returned his attention to the proposal he’d been working on.
Watching the corded muscles in his neck tighten as he ran his hand through his disheveled, inky mess of hair, I fought the urge to hurdle over my desk and knock him backward.
His damn throat was going to be the death of me.
My mind conjured an image of him from earlier I wouldn’t soon forget.
Not long after Savannah left for lunch, the door opened with unusual force, and I met Zep’s pale blue eyes. We’d stared at each other in silence, neither of us sure what to say. Holding my gaze, he’d raised the water bottle he’d been holding and pressed it against his mouth with a smirk. Fire shot through every crevice of my body as I watched his muscles work the liquid down his throat.
Water had never been sexier.
In fact, ever since we’d slept together, Zep had never been sexier. His hair, his walk, hell, even his clothes were sexy. Stealing another glance at him, I memorized the army green T-shirt the yellow DuBlanc logo and dark jeans he wore. His beard seemed heavier than before, and he’d foregone his usual haircut. The sides were cut short, but the front fell well below his nose.
And he was all Josie Gereaux’s.
Fuck.
As if summoned by some unholy telepathy, Zep’s phone rang. His eyebrows drew together as he glanced at the caller ID, and he seemed to count the rings while holding the phone in his hand.
Five rings and it’d go to voice mail. I’d been avoiding Roland’s calls long enough to have it down to a science.
On the fourth ring, he answered with a half-smile that tilted the corner of his mouth. “Hey, what’s up? I’m at work and,” stealing a quick glance my way, he lowered his voice, “I can’t talk right now.”
Maybe I stopped breathing. I wasn’t sure, but I knew that I counted ten full seconds of holding my breath and waiting for him to start talking again.
“No, no plans that I know of.”
Damn.
“That sounds good. Why don’t I just give you a call when I leave here? Yeah, that’ll work. Huh? Oh, sure. Yeah, you too. Bye, Jo.”
Bingo.
After disconnecting the call, he turned his chin over his shoulder. “Did you get all that, Addie, or would you like me to send you a detailed report?”
Mortified, I quickly became engrossed in my computer screen.
My dark computer screen.
Shit.
Latching his hand onto the edge of my desk, he dragged his chair right against me. I remained quiet, praying he had some other purpose in rolling his happy ass over to me than ridiculing me for eavesdropping. Undeterred by my brush-off, he leaned closer, and the wheels on his chair pushed him forward, wedging his knees in between mine. We both glanced down at the same time, taking in the very suggestive pose of his hips as they shoved in between my splayed thighs.
If I weren’t so turned on, I would’ve laughed.
“Is there something you—”
“Why don’t you just ask me, Addie?”
I quickly shook off my lusty haze. “Ask you what?”
“You want to know if that was a girl on the phone, and if I have a date. Admit it,” he said, craning his neck and caressing his beard.
Turning my attention back to the reports on my desk, I shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, Zep. It’s none of my business. You can do whatever or whoever you want.”
In the last few months, I’d gained a lot of ground in my new-found independence. However, my one night with Zep continued to haunt me, threatening the very foundation of what my ex-husband had tried to destroy. I swore the night Roland served me with divorce papers that Zep and I would stay amicable but platonic friends. Too much vodka and a pity party blew that all to hell.
Zep and I would never have the friendship we promised each other that night, but I’d be damned if meaningless sex would ruin the business Pappy spent his life building.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t so meaningless.
“Right,” he said with a wicked grin. “So, you’re perfectly fine, if I borrow this stapler?” Stretching across me, he all but straddled my leg to drag my shitty stapler off my desk.
I swallowed hard. “Yes, perfectly fine.”
Standing, he moved behind my chair and chuckled low in his chest. “Oops. I forgot staples. You don’t mind, do you, Addie?”
Asshole. I’d been played by the best. He wouldn’t break me.
“No, of course not.”
Reaching over my left shoulder, he lightly trailed his fingers over the skin of my open nape. Letting the pads of his thumb and index finger trace my collarbone, he hovered above my breast before sliding them down the front of my shirt and dropping them inside my desk drawer. Biting my lip, I tried to stifle the groan that managed to slip out. Although he was behind me, I felt his victorious grin.
Damn it.
Gripping the box of staples, he lowered his mouth to my ear. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I need it.”
I spun around, my mouth dropp
ing open. “Excuse me?”
“The staples, Snow White.” He winked, a smirk plastered across his face. “Why? What were you talking about?”
“I’m still here, in case you two were wondering.”
Within seconds, my heated trance shattered, and I stared into the smug eyes of my sister as she gave us a half-hearted wave.
Zep just laughed and wheeled himself back over to his desk. “Thanks for the update, Sav.”
“No problem, Jim.”
Waking my computer from its perpetual sleep mode, I shot her a “go to hell” look. “If you two are finished, how about we get some work done today for a change? Won’t that be nice?”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Zep said, giving me a salute.
“Mother of fuck!”
It was only ten minutes until five o’clock, and I’d managed to cause a paper jam in eight different compartments of the copier. In the three hours since Zep sent my temperature into the stratosphere, I’d also managed to destroy a total of four major electronic devices in the office.
A new personal best.
My heartbeat quickened as I remembered the way my skin flushed under his touch and the disappointment that sank low in my belly when his hand stopped at the top of my shirt. Logically, I knew that was as far as it could go. I mean, we were in a place of business, and besides, nothing could happen between us.
Right?
What was I saying? Of course, it couldn’t. Those were my rules, and I had to live with them until I died a cold, frigid old hag with forty cats.
Until then, I’d take out my sexual frustrations on this fucking copier.
Jerking open every drawer I could, I ripped out tiny pieces of paper and screamed as ink smeared across my arms. “Argh! Worthless piece of shit! You work fine for everyone else, but not for me. No, for me, you’re a fucking dick!”
Just as I kicked the copier with my four-inch heel, the scent of sea salt and spice filled my nose, stopping me mid-attack. Off-balance and disoriented, my ankle rolled, propelling me into a hard chest and tattooed arms. Inhaling, I closed my eyes and let my head fall against him.
“You can’t force it, Addie. You have to line it up and make sure it’s going to fit before you shove it in.”
Popping my eyes open, I stared at the wall in front of me. The innuendo circled my head, burrowed into my brain, and detonated like a tripped land mine.
“Um, what?”
“Before you put it in,” he repeated with a low growl, somehow making it so much worse. “You have to prep it first. You know, warm it up and make sure it’s good and ready before copying the shit out of that report.”
Trying to convince myself I didn’t want him to bend me over the copier was pointless. Convincing him was imperative. Nodding, I stepped toward the machine and away from him. “I think I can handle it, thanks.”
But Zep wasn’t done. “Can you?” Grasping my hips, he pulled me backward against his own, pressing a very prominent and impressive erection against my behind.
If I could’ve wept, I would have. Not because I didn’t want his body there, but because I did and knew it shouldn’t be. Because I wanted more and knew I couldn’t have it. Because karma was a cruel bitch named Josie Gereaux, who had a date with what was currently nestled between my ass cheeks.
“Zep, please…”
He groaned hotly in my ear. “Just admit it, Addie.”
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to admit it. “No.”
“Admit what?” a male voice called out from across the room.
Startled out of our own little world, we both looked up to see Bam-Bam standing in the doorway of the kitchenette, inhaling a double cheeseburger, his dingy yellow DuBlanc overalls muddied and soiled.
Savannah spoke up. “Addie and Zep are—”
“Nothing, Bam. It’s fine. Just a paper jam.” Pushing away from Zep, I wiped a line of beaded sweat off my brow and glared at my sister, shaking my head to let her know she needed to shut up.
“Oh, cool.” He laughed, smearing mustard across his face with the back of his hand. “Because from what it looked like when I walked in, you two were gettin’ it on in the office.”
I froze. Savannah snorted. Zep chuckled.
Nobody spoke while we waited for Bam-Bam to put two and two together. However, Bam-Bam was Bam-Bam, and in my cousin’s world, two and two equaled seven.
Math wasn’t Bam’s strong suit.
“So, it’s five o’clock, y’all!” He grinned, showing off his missing canine. “Don’t know about ya’ll, but it’s been a long ass day on the boat and I’m ready for drinks. Who’s buyin’?”
Savannah shoved her chair under her desk and swung her huge purse over her shoulder. “No can do. I’m meeting Pope at his friend’s barbecue tonight.” Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. “I finally get to meet them.”
Crossing the room, I circled in front of her and threw my arms out wide. “You’re taking the truck? What the hell am I supposed to do, Sav? Hitchhike?”
A devious grin tugged at her mouth. “I’m sure Bam can take you home.”
Bam’s face fell as if Savannah had just told him she’d kicked a litter of puppies. “Aw, man, Sav, I was gonna head downtown and hit up the ladies.”
“Oh, well, I guess that just leaves Zep.” Seemingly satisfied with herself, she shifted around me, the words rolling off her tongue as if plotting world domination were on her every day agenda. “Zep, you don’t have plans, right? You can take Ads home, can’t you?”
Zep’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, actually—”
“Great,” she said, swinging the door open and throwing a hand over her shoulder. “Thanks, you’re the best.”
“I’m out too,” Bam-Bam announced, following Savannah to the still wide-opened door. Waving, he called out to Zep before closing it behind him. “Sucks to be you, dude. You need to call ‘not it” sooner next time. If you and that hottie Josie wanna meet up later, text me.”
And then there were two.
Or one.
Flinging the door open, I hauled ass outside as if my hair were on fire. Stomping across the parking lot, I paced next to the back of his Silverado like a caged animal.
Zep made his way toward me at a leisurely pace, twirling his keyring on his index finger and nodding toward his truck. “Are you getting inside, or do you plan on riding in the bed? Either way is fine with me.”
I had no idea what possessed me to ask the question. It wasn’t any of my business. It wasn’t my place to ask. However, once my mouth opened, the words just fell out. “Do you really have a date with Josie Gereaux tonight?”
His eyes locked with mine. “Did you really hook-up with a guy named Jim?”
Dipping my chin, I walked around to the back of the truck and swung my leg over the lift gate. “I’ll get in the back.”
25
Backyard Revelations
Savannah
New Orleans, Louisiana
I got in the truck and sped out of the parking lot before Addie could pull me out by my hair.
Not a chance big sister.
Digging around blindly in the glove box as I peeled out of the parking lot, I finally found my favorite 70s mixed tape. Grinning to myself, I pushed it into the ancient cassette player and cranked the volume.
The sounds of Suzi Quatro’s “The Wild One” crackled through the speakers as I headed down the highway. By the time I pulled up to the address Pope had given me, my neck ached from all the head banging, and my voice was hoarse.
I took a minute to look myself over in the mirror. The wind had tousled my natural waves and flushed my cheeks. After adjusting the crochet vest I’d hid behind the seat ever since Addie had threatened to burn it on sight, I slipped on a stack of bangle bracelets from my bottomless purse. With a swipe of mascara and my favorite tinted lip balm, my fresh-from the-beach boho look was complete.
God, I’m good.
I typed out a quick message to Pope letting him know I’d arrived and took
a moment to pull myself together. He’d said it was just a casual cookout with some buddies from the precinct, nothing formal and certainly nothing to be worried over.
Yeah, right.
Everyone knew that if the boyfriend’s friends didn’t like you, it was the kiss of death for the relationship. I’d never really had trouble with people liking me, but then again, I’d never really cared what other people thought. Somehow, it seemed as if being with Pope was changing more than my maturity level. It was changing my outlook on life.
I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not. However, I was sure that I was falling in love with him. If that meant caring about what the people in his life thought about me, I supposed it was okay.
For now, at least.
Stepping out of the truck, I headed for the walkway and heard music playing from the backyard. I briefly wondered if I was supposed to go straight back to the party or knock at the front door first. I didn’t have to think about it long because as soon as I opened the front gate, I spotted Pope coming around the side of the house.
He was dressed as he always was when he was off-duty. Blue jeans covered his muscular thighs and a white T-shirt clung to his broad chest and strained at his biceps.
How could one man look so fucking edible?
As he approached, he greeted me with a dimpled smile I knew he reserved just for me. “Hey, gorgeous.”
Instead of the peck on the lips I expected, he pulled me close to his body. The fresh scent of bar soap enveloped my senses, and I tilted my chin up just in time to meet his waiting lips. He devoured my mouth, his tongue slipping against mine in a toe-curling kiss I’d never experienced with him outside of the bedroom.
Pope was relatively reserved in public, opting to leave passion for private moments. I wasn’t sure if it was the fact we hadn't seen each other since our fight, or if our argument had broken loose some dormant alpha tendencies, but I liked it. A lot. If this kiss was a preview to the make-up sex we’d have later, I was ready to drag him back to his house, double time.
