by Julie Olivia
“I’m not shopping,” Cameron says from behind his laptop.
“Liar,” I shoot back. He glares.
I reach into Gary’s jar of goodies once more and pull out a particularly squishy bear, twiddling it between my thumb and forefinger.
“Don’t play with your food,” Nia says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not even yours.” Her hand twitches and I wonder if she wants to slap it out of my hand. Instead, I take it to my teeth and grind the gummy slowly.
It’s silent for a moment with just the sound of Cameron tapping on his laptop trackpad and my intentionally obnoxious chewing of the candy. My eyes do not leave Nia. With her head turned toward Cameron, I take every moment I can to look at her long, curled locks, pinned in a half up-do. How do women do that? And why do they think it looks different enough to finagle? Seems like more trouble than it’s worth to me. But, also, I’m sitting here admiring her exposed neck, so maybe that answers my question.
“Any plans tonight?” I ask her, adjusting my legs to be propped higher on Gary’s desk, accidentally knocking over a cup full of pencils.
“Come on, Ian. Get your feet off the desk,” she groans. I drop them.
“Polly, sometimes I like it when you tell me to do things,” I say. Even in the low light of the office, I see her face flush red.
“And is this one of those times?” she asks with a slight stutter to her tone.
“It’s always one of those times,” I say. I love watching her glare at me—the narrowing of her eyes, the furrowing of her brow, and the small scrunch of her nose as she purses her lips.
I spot the pink rabbit’s foot on the edge of the desk and swipe it up, spinning the keyring on my finger.
“Hey, want a rabbit’s foot?”
Nia pauses then shrugs. “Sure,” she says, holding out her hand. I drop it in, grazing my fingers over hers. She snaps her hand closed around it, causing me to jerk my hand back with a grin. “I had one of these as a kid,” she says, rolling it in her palm. “They always freaked me out, but it’s morbidly fascinating, you know?”
I love seeing this side of Nia, getting little details about her life. Piece by piece, bit by bit, year by year, I find out more. I want it all.
“You’re an odd person, Polly,” I say, popping my feet back on the desk. When she glares, I don’t move. I lift an eyebrow in challenge. It’s silent. Dare I say we’re having a “moment”? She rolls her eyes. I wonder if she read my mind.
“Go home, you two,” she groans, turning on her heel and leaving. Once I hear the front doors close, I twist in my chair toward Cameron.
“See?” I say. “I told you some woman would appreciate it.”
“Whatever,” he huffs. “She can have it. Now help me find something better.”
I browse on my phone for more meaningless gifts, but all I can think about is if Nia will actually keep the one I gave her, and whether or not she felt the buzz between us just now.
25
Ian
Present day
I can still taste her the following morning, and I need more.
I promised Nia this wouldn’t be leaked to anyone, and I will keep that promise as long as it means last night was not a dream.
The entire group meets for brunch, and I try my best to make eye contact with Nia.
Half of the attendees are clutching their heads while all the women fork food into their mouths.
“So, Ian, who are the strays?” Ramona asks, lifting an eyebrow.
I dart my eyes to Nia’s. Are they a deeper brown than usual? Is she looking at me with desire, or is she back to being pissed at me for every move I make? I don’t know if she’s ready to reveal that her crazy brother drove down here in a rage, or that her actually sane younger brother is hungover from the festivities. I wait a second to see if she’ll respond, and as I’m opening my mouth to speak, she beats me to the punch.
“This is Harry and Grant. They’re my brothers from out of town.”
Utensils pause, some stopping mid-scrape on the china. I wonder if anyone will say anything at all.
“Oh, dude, I didn’t know that!” Wes finally breaks the silence to raise his hand. Harry completes the high five and they go back to eating as if nothing happened.
I can tell Nia is nervous. Of course she is. This isn’t her wedding week, and these aren’t Grace’s friends. But, Grace throws up a hand for a high five as well, and no other words are exchanged on the subject.
“So, bachelorette party tonight, huh? Going crazy?” Wes asks, nudging Ray.
“Got strippers?” Cam chuckles, shoveling eggs into his mouth.
“Probably.” Grace winks. “But only because you guys did.”
We all exchange quick glances—which seem to go unnoticed by most of the women—and return to our plates. Let them think we’re tough, manly men. They don’t need to know we hung out at the pier and actually had decent conversation. Yes sir, we surely did experience lots of boobs and ass.
Well, at least I did.
I can’t stand the idea of Nia around strippers. What do the performers even do at female-focused strip clubs? Spin their penises around in patrons’ faces? I almost lose my appetite, but the scent of bacon wafting into my nose tempts me back to it. I’m still not happy about it, though.
“Do you think they’ll wear banana hammocks?” Cameron asks, waving his fork. “Bright yellow? Hairy men with gold chains?”
“Ew, gross.” Ramona scrunches her nose and glances to Corinne, who shrugs with a laugh.
“Could be a good time,” she comments.
“Nia, are you pumped about strippers?” I ask. Her eyes meet mine and narrow in response. It’s the same old glance I’m accustomed to, except now I feel a current between us as if we’re connected by an invisible wire, humming with electricity. “What do you go for? Firefighters? Mailmen? Lawyers?”
“Shut up,” she shoots back. Ramona is already holding her hands up in protest, but I don’t feel hate brimming from Nia. I see how she shifts in her chair. She’s trying her best to hide it, but I know my words have set her off. I bite down on my fork, grinning. I wonder if she’s wet beneath that skirt.
“It is two days before the wedding,” Ramona says. “I am not having your silly bickering ruining these wonderful, beautiful people’s party.” Her index finger points back and forth between the two of us, but when our eyes meet once more and the corner of my mouth lifts in a smirk, Nia shakes her head and goes back to her food.
Grace lets out a small giggle, and Ramona exhales.
“Well at least the bride finds it funny now.”
26
Nia
I tried to see Harry and Grant off in the morning, folding some snacks from the breakfast bar into napkins and saying things like “Well this was fun” and “I’ll see you when I get home!” but all the men insist on inviting them to the beach for volleyball and discreet, flask-based day drinking.
“Nia, we’re already down here,” Harry insists. “Plus, I already had a mimosa for breakfast so I can’t possibly drive.”
“Grant can drive.”
“We have two cars, remember?” Grant’s arms are crossed with a pair of swim trunks in his fist.
“Where did you get those?” I ask, pointing at them.
“Gift shop.” His thumb points to the corner of the lobby where there is indeed a small kiosk with candies, salty snacks, sandals, and swimwear.
“I can drive my own car back,” I continue, ignoring the tangent. Harry is shuffling his feet on the linoleum, causing tiny squeaking sounds.
“Stop that,” I say, and he rolls his eyes in response with a smile. I open my mouth to say more, but a voice calls from the sliding glass door whirring open at the end of the hall.
“Are you guys coming or what?” Ian stands in the threshold, and I’m trying not to drool. He’s shirtless, because why the hell not? As he draws nearer, I see the familiar veins trailing down his forearms, curling up to meet his protruding wrists and long, deft fingers
…fingers I want inside me again.
“Nia, please let us stay,” Harry groans, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Cara’s mom has her for the next two days, and I love the beach.”
“Man, she’s not our mom,” Grant huffs, tossing the swim shorts over his shoulder. “We’re staying. Room key, sister.” He holds out his hand, palm up, and gestures for the keycard. I narrow my eyes, reaching into my pocket and laying it in his hand. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t. The last thing Grant needs is some type of vacation as a reward for his behavior. This feels like I’m enabling him, but at the same time I wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for him to hang out with men like Ian and Cameron. They’re good people, honest guys, but I also know just how stubborn Grant can be—almost as stubborn as myself. He won’t be leaving any time soon, invite or not.
“Thank you,” he says in a singsong voice, waving his hand for Harry to follow him to the elevators, which he does. There’s something about Grant that compels people. It’s his swagger, his confidence, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s our eldest brother.
The elevator door closes behind them and electricity sparks in my spine, all the way down to toes. I feel my gut give a slight tug and I know Ian is still looking at me—at all of me. His eyes wander from my neck to my chest and down my legs. Those blues could have X-ray vision, seeing through my clothes and taking in my naked curves, my hard nipples, and my steadily rising temperature, which threatens to make my face turn a bright red hue. I’m trying to keep my wits about me, but by the time Ian’s eyes land back on my chin, lips, and then eyes, I’m breathing heavy.
His eyebrow lifts. “How about that ‘next time’?”
My chest clenches and I inhale sharply. I laugh, looking both directions to cover whatever this conversation may appear to be to outsiders. The same older couple from the bar that insists on looking like twins are eyeing me, and I wonder if they’re the siblings from The Shining. I can feel their judgments from a mile away. I would tell them, It isn’t what it looks like, but this tension between Ian and me is exactly what it looks like.
“Seriously?”
“We could.” He pulls a card from his pocket. “I still have my room key.”
This beach trip is starting to lack a lot of the “beach” aspect, but I’m too excited to care.
“Fine,” I say, walking away, toward the elevator. I can hear his steps following behind me.
Even when we load onto the elevator with an unassuming younger couple, no doubt on their honeymoon given how frequently they’re touching each other, I feel no regret about this decision to go with Ian to his room. I’m positive he is not looking for anything more than a vacation fling, and neither am I. Who are we to deny each other this pleasure?
Then a quick thought has me considering that maybe this isn’t a fling. He’s proven himself to be caring with my brothers, one of which does not deserve praise given Ian’s first impression of him, but Ian forgave him with such grace that I wonder if maybe this man is actually capable of wanting more than a quick brush of his dick against my hand, which is exactly what he does now in the back of the elevator. He leans back and I flush red. He chuckles at the sight of it.
We exit the elevator and rush to his room. He barely has the door open before I’m pinned against it. We’re still exposed to the outside hallway and I’m both self-conscious and excited. He can’t even wait two more seconds to have his hands on me. They trace up my sides, to my shoulders, gripping my elbows to lift my hands above my head. He nuzzles his head in the crook of my neck and groans.
“Now?” I ask.
“Now.” His voice growls deep in his throat. He places a kiss on my collarbone and lifts his head to look down at me. His height is substantial and dominating, and although this sends a jolt of pressure from my stomach down to between my legs, I don’t want a domineering man right now. He presents a challenge, and I want to rise to it.
I raise my eyebrow, empowered by his forward nature. He knows what he wants and so do I. I want Ian Chambers. I want his arms, his hands, his muscular thighs, and his tongue everywhere he pleases.
His hand roams down to my hips then threatens to go lower but stays at my pelvic bone.
“Spread ’em,” he says with a grin. I grin back and start to shift my thigh outward.
“Oh shit,” a voice says from beside us, and we simultaneously whip our heads to the hallway where a jaw-dropped Ramona clutches a plastic bag and has her hand over her heart. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. Uhh…” She stumbles over her words, looking between us then averting her eyes. “Wow. Okay. Um…”
“What is it, Ramona?” Ian demands. His voice has an edge to it, and I instinctually lift an eyebrow. God, I need this man inside me right now.
“We were just—um—going to prepare for the bachelorette party,” Ramona says, her hand curved over her brow like a shield blocking her from the sight of us on the verge of ripping each other’s clothes off.
But of course. The bachelorette party. Definitely a more pressing matter.
Sure. Absolutely.
Not.
“Yes.” I twist my wrists and Ian releases them. Totally normal thing to do in front of his sister. “Grace needs us. Obviously.” I roll my eyes, attempting to be nonchalant. I smooth my skirt down and laugh a little, as if this is just a game. Ha! What a silly moment, Ian’s sister! You just walked into us playing policeman.
Spread ’em.
I don’t look at Ian, and I do not exchange any pleasantries. I wish I could say, Thank you for making me wetter than any other man ever has been able to or I’m desperate to pleasure you, maybe even I’ll moan for you again soon. But, no—I turn, shake his fucking hand, and walk away.
I hear Ramona laugh and say, “See ya, loser,” before rushing up next to me. “You’re so full of surprises, Nia. I knew you had some freak in there.”
“Where’s Grace?” I ask, ignoring whatever she said. Honestly, I don’t even fully register it until moments later. Freak? “Wait—what does that mean?”
27
Nia
Grace, Corinne, and I sit on the edge of the bed as Ramona lays out the next few hours of our life. She insists on starting early, which is unexpected for all of us. Grace is still yawning from her afternoon nap, and Corinne is blinking in her bathing suit, smelling like sand, undoubtedly taken from the beach. I’m trying not to huff like a child as I balance both listening and pushing down my heightened sexual frustration.
I’m still picturing how Ian looked at me, how he groaned in my ear, the rough hands wrapped around my wrists as I relinquished control. It’s weird to feel so vulnerable, but the combination of Ian’s reassurance in treating me with care and pleasuring me until I was numb between my thighs makes it a bit easier to succumb.
Does he actually want me now, or is he riding on the high of control—of knowing he’s finally captured me despite my best efforts to resist? Do I care? I’m just not sure I can handle him.
“I think I want waffles,” Grace says, squinting at Ramona, who was in the middle of stating how insanely drunk we will be by the end of the night.
“The bride wants waffles, the bride gets some frigging waffles,” Corinne says, shaking Grace’s shoulder.
Ramona waves her pencil at Corinne. She’s only holding it like a baton in order to direct us because there is no paper in sight. “You’re absolutely right, tall blonde.”
“I like tall blonde,” Grace declares. “I approve.”
“Am I short blonde?” I ask.
“Cute blonde,” Corinne corrects.
“I like cute blonde as well,” Grace says again with an air of royalty in her tone. “It is so.”
“There are worse ways to start a night.” I fold my arms across my chest and sigh. Although, I could have started my afternoon with Ian, so there are also better ways this night could be kicked off as well.
“I have to pee,” Grace says, patting her knees and then locking herself in the bathroom.
“Good time t
o break,” Corinne agrees. “Let me at least put on shorts.” They leave and I’m left alone with Ramona. Why does it feel like the Chambers family is always cornering me into conversations?
There’s an awkward silence followed by Ramona popping her lips and grinning.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispers.
“No,” I shoot back.
“Do you like him?”
“Are we in middle school?” I chuckle.
“Fine.” She raises her hands. “None of my business then.” Ramona and Ian have too many similarities, one of which being the fact that, even though they say they do not want to know something, their face says otherwise.
“Just because you try to seem uninterested doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you anything.”
“Damn.” She snaps with a grin. “That works on everyone else.”
“Doesn’t work on me,” I whisper.
“Apparently it did for my brother.”
At that moment, the room door opens, and Corinne, now dressed in loose-fitting shorts but still in her bathing suit top, halts mid-step.
“What are we talking about?” she asks.
“Nothing,” Ramona says, twisting her pencil nonchalantly. I avoid eye contact.
“Secrets,” Corrine hisses, her eyes narrowed as she points between us.
The toilet flushes, water runs, and Grace comes out of the bathroom. “I heard whispering.”
“They’re sharing secrets.” Corinne crosses her arms.
“Secrets, secrets are no fun,” Ramona calls out, tossing her head from side to side.
“You’re the one keeping secrets.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The conversation has circled enough that most of us are confused, which satisfies Ramona enough for her to start talking about the evening yet again.
I stop listening, and for once I don’t care about schedules or itineraries or the whens and wheres of the day. I’m not mentally begging for my planner. I’m only thinking one thing: I want Ian Chambers.
