by E. H. Lyon
Immediately, I choke on my drink and clear my throat.
Whoa. The flow of energy moves strong with this one.
“No girlfriend, so not an issue,” I manage to crack out and lock my eyes on her. Studying her, she seems very pleased with my answer.
What the hell is happening here? But I am enjoying this, a lot.
My phone pings, and it’s a text from Greg.
Crazy! I was going to text you that she’s in town and ask if you could check up on her. We should catch up soon, it’s been a while, man.
I show the message to Avery.
She grabs her scotch glass and holds it out to me. “So, I guess you’re checking up on me for my brother.”
I nod as we clink our glasses. I notice the way she swallows the scotch and the movement of her throat, thinking things that her brother most definitely would not approve of.
“Greg would probably want me to call him and give the full report, but I’m happy to meet up with a familiar face too.” It’s genuine because a break from work is sometimes invigorating. She nods once slowly, doubting my tone.
“You enjoy marketing?”
“Truthfully, it isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Everything is now about social media. Plus, living in San Francisco just aggravates that social-media life. A bit too pretentious for me, and it gets exhausting. In a fairy tale, I would own a bakery or something,” she shrugs.
Her thumb rubs her lower lip, and it leaves me to wonder what else her mouth could do.
“Why don’t you?”
“That would most definitely ruin my parents’ plans of me finding a husband, becoming a stay-at-home mom, and wasting my degree they paid for. I mean, you know Greg. He went into medicine, and although he’s a good doctor, I always wonder if he would have preferred law. But Dad wanted him to practice medicine.” She is brutally honest and sounds like she doesn’t have a problem saying it how it is, nor does she plan on following her parents’ roadmap.
It’s refreshing.
“But,” she challenges, “you can’t honestly tell me you also want to be working the rest of your life in the city for some large law firm that counts your hours?”
I look at her for a moment.
She’s not too shy to ask what is on her mind. I’m not used to that. I’m used to having a drink with women just to be polite, so we keep conversation simple and quick before leaving to do other things. Avery is authentic, she’s not asking just to make conversation. She wants to know truthfully. It is what I sense from her, at least.
I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t want to stay forever in a big firm. Maybe have my own practice. But a private practice is easier done in a small town, I guess. Maybe I would move closer to my family in Colorado one day. My sister Becca just had a baby, so she begs me to move all the time. But I’m doing too well here to give it up,” I reflect, not sure I’ve actually ever said that aloud.
A warm smile spreads across her face. “See? Sounds like you also have other plans for another chapter, and I hope you get it. Sounds idyllic.” That sentence floats around in the air.
It makes me smile to myself.
She plays with her long hair, bringing it up into a ponytail but then letting it fall back down. My guess is it’s a natural move for her, but I’ve already been drawn in to where I could attack the meeting point between her neck and ear.
“You’re not originally from Chicago, right?” she enquires.
“Actually, I am. Kind of. Well, the north-west suburbs. But most of my family moved to Colorado when my dad’s job transferred him there when I was in college. Are you always based in San Francisco since Chicago is only a project?”
“Since I graduated, yeah. That was two years ago. I’m hoping to move if I get a promotion at the end of the summer. Funny, I also have family in Colorado, and I try to get out there during ski season.”
A small break in our conversation happens and she picks up on this.
“Maybe you can help me with your local knowledge. Do you have any recommendations for bakeries around here? I want to try a few this weekend.” She swirls on her bar stool, back and forth.
“Yeah, there are a few. I can send you a list. Do you have a lot of plans for the weekend?”
Why am I asking?
“No, maybe some work, a yoga class, and hopefully some decent pieces of carrot cake.”
A guy comes to the bar and reaches over her to pay for his drinks. My arm finds its way around Avery’s upper back and shoulder to move her out of the way, moving her towards me gently, and her eyes shoot up to look at me. Her eyes are big and sparkly.
My arm stays protective around her a few seconds longer than needed, and I may just have caught a glimpse of her black bra strap. My lips tug a little bit, but not enough to give her a full smile as my eyes give her a gleam.
When she gives me a look of gratitude, I let her go. But my arm would sure as hell have been happy if it could have stayed put.
Quickly moving us on.
“Carrot cake is a good choice. Chocolate is too predictable, and vanilla is just pure sugar.” I give her my best warm smile and she returns a similar look.
“Actually, I love making carrot cake, so I’m always searching for new recipes.”
“Homemade carrot cake is impressive. Feel free to drop off a piece if you bake one while you’re in town.” That sounded polite with zero other intentions, I think.
She seems satisfied with my sentence and gives me a look that is far more seductive than she likely means for it to be. My decency scale is about to break.
“I will, but then I’ll need to know where you live.” She’s coy. Her eyebrows arch like she’s playing a game.
I take a big gulp of scotch that leaves my glass empty, my cue to get the hell out of here.
But it’s Friday and that means I have no reason not to have a good night. Our rhythm of conversation is fast moving, and we are already at a point where I sense this isn’t just friendly chit chat. Avery knows how to send off vibes, and something tells me she is not innocently giving signals.
Okay, just be a man. A smart man who has passed the state bar. Cross-examine the hell out of this girl, because I am certain her mind is somewhere it should not be. But I certainly hope it to be.
Her fingers tap her empty glass.
“Want another scotch?” I ask because I am a gentleman.
“Nope.” It comes out simple.
“Want to get out of here?”
“Yes.” Her eyes fly up to meet mine with her lips parting.
“Where do you want to go?” I look directly in her eyes, giving her a warning.
“Do you always cross-examine?” she retorts as if she has known me for years.
We are familiar with each other, but not enough for her to know that was exactly what I was doing.
Her hand touches my arm, which is a nice feeling, by the way. I let my head shake side to side in amusement. Avery knows the game, and I have about 30 seconds to decide if this is a road I want to go down.
“Want to have a drink at my place?”
She nods yes, with her eyes giving me an agreeable, almost worshiping look, her mouth curving slightly up.
I have a lot of plans for her, but truthfully, they don’t involve a drink.
“You don’t want a drink, do you?” I tell her more than I ask.
Her free hand lets her fingers walk up my chest and her eyes angle up to meet mine. “No. No, I don’t.” She sounds sultry and determined.
A sound escapes from the back of my throat, satisfied, and I throw some money on the bar and guide her out with my hand firmly placed on her lower back.
The moment the door opens to my condo, she turns to me and walks backwards slowly. Taking off her jacket and letting it fall to the floor. She turns around, and I step behind her to unzip her dress slowly as she pulls her hair to the side. Her head slightly turns back to me with her mouth parted and eyes inviting me in.
Avery turns around
again and lets her dress fall to the floor, so she is left in black heels with matching black panties and bra that seem to be smooth and silky.
Throwing my suit jacket to the floor, I undo the cuff of my sleeves as I follow her towards my bedroom as if she knows the floorplan by heart.
Watching her. Craving her.
Her look and her sway draw me in.
Avery’s fingers reach for my shirt and give me a tug towards her. She finds my buttons and slowly loosens each one as if she’s a professional at doing this, our eyes not parting, the anticipation growing. Pressure building in my groin. Her smell of vanilla keeping me aware of what we are doing.
I step closer to her. I’m done for, as she is a mixture of sugar and spice and everything nice. She is fucking hot, to put it in plain terms.
The moment comes where we kick it up a notch. I back her into the hallway wall heading towards my bedroom, away from the living room that is open with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Only the light from the night city coming through the windows and the small light by the front door offer us enough to see clearly what we’re doing.
Her eyes bounce back and forth between my eyes and my lips until she focuses only on my mouth. I let out a slight warning laugh from the back of my throat, almost a growl. Wrapping my arm around her waist, pulling her to me, she lets out a surprised moan from what I can guess is the feeling of my throbbing cock pushing against her stomach. With no hesitation, I push her against the wall, and I dive my lips onto hers. Our mouths collide with each other, my mouth taking ownership of her and finding her tongue, which seems to be welcoming me with equal force.
It is feverish, hard, and raw. She tastes like a mixture of scotch and strawberry. Devilish.
Somehow, I knew with that kiss that she was going to leave a mark on my life.
Chapter Four
Avery: 5 years ago
It was calculated. I left my umbrella at Jake’s place after getting a taxi before he woke.
This is not the start of a relationship. This is sex.
I am not the type to sleep with strangers. He is not a stranger.
Nor do I sleep around.
It has been a while since I felt I had an opportunity like that, and I knew when I saw him sitting there in that three-piece suit that him doing things to me was a fantasy I should initiate.
When I first agreed to let Jake buy me a drink, I didn’t think much about it. It was just an old friend of my brother’s whom I had met a few times and vaguely remembered as good-looking and probably skilled in many things.
While he ordered a round of drinks, I Googled his name, and the charmer does not do social media, which left me to resort to searching his profile on his law firm’s site. Although I felt a little stalkerish for a millisecond, it was enough to tip me over the edge of interest, and I was happy I stayed for a drink.
I gave him my calm and confident approach. And he played the game like a pro. His ability to make me come was also award-worthy… twice.
But I am only in town for a short while, so I’m not looking for a boyfriend. By the look of his dining table filled with work, something tells me he does not have much space in his life for anything else.
Yet, I left my umbrella.
My eyes look up at Jake as he enters the trendy café in the Near North Side of the city, not far from the lake. The place tries to live up to its reviews as being hip, with framed Nirvana and Rolling Stones posters. And the two ladies behind me talking about a blind date gone wrong tells me this place is half-decent with its clientele.
Jake gives me a sly smirk as he slowly walks towards me like an animal approaching its prey. And I will gladly be his prey again.
It may be the weekend, but he does not seem to retire the button-down shirts, as demonstrated by his light blue shirt paired with jeans.
He slides the umbrella onto the table. “I think you forgot something.” Sitting down across from me, his grin is charming. “You are something, huh?” he remarks and then indicates to the waiter for a coffee as he sets his sunglasses on the table with his phone.
I rest my head on my hand, my propped elbow on the table. “Why, whatever do you mean?” I pretend to be confused, little theatrics thrown in for good measure.
“Taking off before the sheets are even cold is a bold move.” His head tilts to the side.
“Nah. It’s easier that way,” I say confidently, sipping from my mug of coffee.
He brushes it off. “So, did you speak to your brother?”
“Yeah. I said it was nice meeting up with you, but you seem quite busy so don’t think I will see you again. But something tells me you don’t really care about his opinion.” My head tilts at an angle with my eyes scanning him.
He scratches his head. “No, I don’t. Greg is an old buddy from college, but I do not consider him close enough that his little sister is off limits. Obviously.” Jake is confident, borderline cocky.
And I like it.
“What limits would those be?” I dare him.
He rubs his face. “What world did you come from?” he asks in amazement, trying to hide his grin, and I have to smile.
I decide to level with him and cross my arms on the table, my voice nearing low as I lean in. “Thanks for last night, by the way. It was a good time.”
Sinking into his chair, his lips curve in as he tries not to let that grin swipe across his face. “Anytime.”
My eyebrow arches and my head cocks in curiosity. “Anytime?”
He clears his throat as he pushes his sleeves up and leans into the table. “Yeah. Why not?”
Biting my tongue, I study him. “True. I need to focus on this project, and I am gone in September and you are obviously a workaholic, so why not have a little fun?” I look away to see who’s in the café and also to avoid his smoldering gaze that may just make me blush and give me a need to cross my legs.
“Workaholic?” He gives me a bewildered look.
I let out a laugh. “Please don’t pretend. Last night you were most likely skimming your work e-mails instead of checking the score of the Cubs game while you waited for your colleague.”
He purses his lips in amusement. “True, but it pays off in my professional career.”
“Modest.” I manage to say it straight-faced, but truthfully, he was a little arrogant there.
Jake studies me up and down. Resting his arms on the table, he looks at me. “And for the record, I do have fun,” he clarifies. “But tell me why you were so determined last night at the bar.”
An exhale escapes me, and I debate how honest to be. But I understand why clients flock to him for his legal skills. It’s his personality. He has the ability to make you open up to him like a book on display, and all he has to do is smile.
“Can this be attorney-client confidentiality or—?”
“You’re not my client, but this can be we’ve-screwed-in-my-bed confidentiality.” He gives me a humorous look.
“Fine. I would love to say I’ve been harboring a crush since I was 18, but truthfully, I didn’t wait six years for you,” I deadpan to ensure he does not let his ego inflate. “I know you, trust you, and something told me you are experienced and know exactly what you’re doing. And you proved that theory right.” It comes out firm and I think effective as the corner of his mouth moves.
He taps his fingers on the table. “Fair enough.”
He studies me, his tongue gliding along his teeth, and I wonder if he picks up on the fact that I may just be asking him to rock my world, send me to oblivion, find new galaxies, etc.
“So, let me guess, you left your umbrella on purpose to see if maybe we can replay last night.” He insinuates the fact while licking his lips with a grin forming.
I slant my shoulders and try not to crack a smile.
“And you returned it. So here we are again.” I let my forehead furrow. A deep laugh comes out from his mouth that knows how to devour.
He leans in closer to the table. “You know, I actually
have a bottle of mezcal in my fridge.”
Ah, he remembers my love for the drink.
My cheeks tighten as I try to keep my delight in. “Is that an observation or an invitation?”
“Having fun sounds good, and consider it an invitation.” He is smooth and enticing as he says it, with his lips twitching as if his mind already has plans for me.
My fingers draw vague circles on the table as I look at him with soft eyes. “Invitation accepted.” It comes out with more smolder than I intended, but my want cannot seem to hide.
“But, Avery, no more running off while the sheets are still warm. We are not in a relationship, but this is Chicago. I don’t like the idea of you heading off alone in the dark, even if it is in a cab.” His eyes do not leave me, and he is firm. But it comes out caring, protective, and it makes something in me flutter.
“You must have a lot of women who’ve slept in your bed then.”
“No. I only have this rule with you.” He seems dead serious.
I study him for a second, and I should ask him more, but I decide to let it go and I nod in understanding.
The waitress returns with his coffee.
“Actually, can you make this to-go? Also, a piece of carrot cake too. This should cover us.” He hands the waitress cash, far more than needed.
That is kind of sweet he remembers my carrot cake.
In 20 minutes flat, we are back at his place, and the moment his front door closes he pushes me against the wall, and we go at it like animals… Clothes being yanked, hands pushing, mouths pulling, teeth biting, lips kissing, as my legs wrap around his waist.
I pull away, breathless, my lips swollen. “Guess we are skipping the mezcal,” I tease, and he looks at me with a devilish grin.
Setting me down, he takes my hand and guides me to the kitchen. We are only in our underwear and my black bra somehow managed to stay on.
He opens the fridge and grabs a very expensive bottle of mezcal before taking a glass from the cupboard.
“Only one glass?” I ask as I hop on the counter.
He gives me a seductive look. “We can share.” His eyes do not leave me as he pours a glass with haste, some of the liquid spilling over the edges. Jake takes a decent sip and then brings the glass to my mouth. My eyes give him a knowing look as I slowly take a sip of the bitter-tasting liquid.
