Sex & Sours

by Dani McLean

  “So, how did I do?”

  I smiled. “Good. You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks. Hey, if you’re not doing anything, we could go for a drink to celebrate? I’d love to pick your brain on a few things.”

  And with a little half step towards me, it clicked. Oh. Oh.

  A bubble of wild laughter threatened to emerge, but I kept it down. “That’s really flattering, but,”

  “You’re seeing someone,” Jade said.

  And fuck. Was I? “It’s complicated.” Word of the day, it seemed. Thanks, Theo.

  Jade retracted the half step, now standing at a more casual distance, but was still smiling brightly, so I guessed she wasn’t too offended. “I get it. Maybe another time.”

  This time the laugh did bubble out of me, causing Jade to ask, “What?”

  “For a hot minute there, I thought you were interested in Sam.”

  Her face scrunched up, but even so, there was a joy to it. She was, frankly, beautiful. In another life, I would absolutely have taken her up on her offer. “Cooper? No. I mean, I guess I can see it. He’s sweet, but not really my thing, you know?”

  “Yeah.” Why did I sound so breathless all of a sudden? Thankfully, Jade just said goodnight and got to work packing up while Devon continued to push me out of the bar.

  “Okay, okay. I’m going.” I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Sam, and it bothered me now that I couldn’t do so without needing to explain it to Jade and Devon. It was the first night in a long time that we weren’t going to see each other after, and it left me disappointed.

  A smarter me would have gone home and let it be.

  A smarter me wouldn’t have quit because she wanted to sleep with her boss in the first place.

  But life was too short to always be smart.

  So, I grabbed my things, said a final goodnight, and texted Sam my home address, telling him to come by when he finished.

  I’d done some unexpected things in my life. Rushing ahead and facing the consequences later was just something I preferred to do.

  They didn’t always work out badly, but they never worried me like this.

  I’d never cared much about speaking my mind (understatement of the century) or about the consequences. Now, I cared. And I wasn’t willing to risk the consequences this time.

  Because this time?

  This time, I was feeling things.

  And that was bound to be trouble.

  37

  Tiff

  Should it have been strange that Sam hadn’t been at my place before? Probably. But it was always so damn convenient to end up in his apartment. I hadn’t even realized until tonight.

  It was just another way we’d separated reality from … whatever this was. Everything that had happened with Sam had only ever existed between the walls of that building, and now I was extending that boundary. Pushing. As always.

  I caught my toes scrunching the rug and ceased their incessant movement and huffed an incredulous laugh at myself. I didn’t get nervous! I’d had lots of lovers in my apartment before; this one was no different.

  No. Different.

  Except he really was. And if I knew him at all, he’d probably have a million ordered and rational reasons why it was a better idea for us to stop seeing each other (probably in some pros and cons list, I was sure). I shouldn’t find that so cute, but I was beyond help at this point, apparently.

  So, what to do?

  Normally (if this was in any way normal or something I’d considered before), I would bulldoze my way through it. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that this time. Theo had said that I preferred casual so no one could hurt me, and … My knee began bouncing quickly in place. I stilled it, but the restless energy beneath it pulsed under my skin.

  The fluttering in my ribcage started again.

  Sam’s sharp knock startled me, and I laughed out loud at myself. I was being ridiculous. This was Sam. Pain in the ass, hot as sin, sweet, caring …

  Okay. I needed to get myself together. Right this second.

  Jesus.

  I yanked open the door with more effort than was necessary, adrenaline driving me. “Hey, you’re here.”

  “I am,” he said, amused. It set off a firework of goosebumps throughout my body. Damn him for looking so good. “Are you going to invite me in, or should we continue this in the hallway?”

  He was infuriating. And irresistible. I rolled my eyes, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, and pulled him into a fierce kiss. “Get in here already.”

  “So,” he said, between kisses, “this is your place.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I pushed him back against the now-closed door. “Want a tour?”

  Sam’s fingers dipped under the waistband of my jeans, not pushing but lingering as we parted. His eyes darted behind me, taking in the rest of the apartment with a soft grin. “Sure.”

  His hands drew out from where they rested but never strayed from me as I showed him around the small space. Eventually, we settled on the couch, and I lost time to long, slow kisses and the comfort of Sam’s body against mine.

  When he sucked a bruise onto that spot below my ear, I wanted to tattoo an X there.

  When the bulldog that lived upstairs barked so loudly it startled us both into giggles mid-thrust, I wanted to bottle my happiness for rainy days.

  And, when I was close to the edge, Sam’s whispered, “Always so good. Needed this. Needed you,” pushed me into a full-body orgasm. I wanted to crack open my ribs and bind him to my soul.

  Afterward, I wasn’t about to make him trek back across the city, so it made more sense for him to stay (purely a logistical decision). Leaving our clothes where they’d been discarded, I slipped naked into my bed while Sam used the bathroom.

  The bed dipped down behind me, his warm flesh a welcome presence along my back, ass, and thighs. Everything except … “Fuck! Your feet are freezing!”

  His chuckle wormed its way into my gut, spreading warmth everywhere it wasn’t already. He tugged at my arm. “You’re the one who’s cold. Turn around, let me warm you up.”

  I did. I shouldn’t.

  Facing him, I tangled our legs together, and his arms returned around me. He hummed a low, pleased sound. “Better?”

  I made a non-committal hum. Didn’t want him thinking anything special. “Just don’t let me fall asleep on you.” Wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

  Only I couldn’t fool myself that my reasons were purely selfless. Theo’s damn words were now plastered across my brain. Let someone in. Just … let them in. Right. Because it was that easy.

  Sam smelled of soap, clean and fresh, something a little grounded, like grass or earth or eucalyptus; I didn’t know (he was the gardener, not me).

  The rhythm of his breath was nice.

  Steady. Soft.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Could I stop you?”

  I raised my head off his chest and whatever retort I had in mind stuck in my throat at the way the light hit his cheekbones just so. His pale eyes, sparkling with amusement, waiting for me to (no doubt) banter back. Because he knew me. Because he liked it.

  Blinking myself out of my reverie, I ducked my head, propping myself on an elbow beside him. “What do you think I should do next?”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “I have my own thoughts. I’d like to know what you think.” My eyes flickered to his face. “I respect your opinion.”

  Something complicated crossed his face before he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “Thank you,” he whispered, and I hoped the darkness hid the blush I felt spreading across my cheeks. Hoped that from this distance, he wouldn’t feel how my heartbeat skittered and jumped.

  He contemplated for another moment, and I enjoyed the wait. Unusual for me, but with Sam, it was always worth it.

  “Hmm. I think you have an opportunity to take any direction you’d like,” he said, ever the magnanimous. It was as adorable a trait as it was frustrating.


  “Want to be more specific?”

  “I would never presume to tell you what to do, Tiffany.”

  “I know, and I appreciate that. I’m not about to promise you that I’ll take whatever advice you give me. But I want to know what you think.”

  “Okay.” Again, he took a moment to collect his thoughts. “You have a talent for what you do. And I’ve seen how much you enjoy it. I think it would be a shame for you to stop. I don’t know if you’ve ever thought of having your own bar, but I could definitely see you succeeding if you did.”

  “Honestly, I’ve never thought about it. I …” and I paused because I wanted to be honest, but I knew that this was delicate territory, “before you came back, I felt like The Basement was mine, in a way, and I liked it. Liked building something of my own. Seeing all my hard work become something. You know?”

  A hand rose to cup my cheek, and he tenderly stroked the skin as he spoke. “I do. You shouldn’t feel bad about that. I’m sorry I reacted so poorly in the beginning.”

  “No. You were right to. I’d overstepped. But I am glad I got to have that for a while. It’s something I want again. Do you really think I could do it?”

  “Absolutely. I have no doubt you’ll land on your feet. You’re very self-motivated.”

  “Takes one to know one,” I joked. “Have you always been that way?”

  He nodded. “To the mutual concern and appreciation of my parents.”

  “That the nice way of saying they didn’t always know what to do with you? I can relate.”

  “Your brother seems nice. I heard him call you Tuff Stuff? Is that a joke between the two of you?”

  “Not really,” I said. While they weren’t the best memories, thinking of my baby brother always made me smile. “I was super protective of him when we were growing up. He was a little bit shorter than some of the other kids before he hit a growth spurt in high school, and one day I clocked a kid for pushing him around. My older brothers came up with it. They all think it’s hilarious.”

  “So, you’ve always been a fighter.”

  “Oh, absolutely. Mama always joked that they needed a new word to describe me because I was always arguing that everyone should just get along, but then I never backed down from a fight.”

  “You must have been a handful.”

  “I used to get in trouble for talking too much in class.” I joined him when he chuckled at that. “What were you like growing up?”

  “Quiet. Curious.” His smile deepened, and he added, “I would occasionally get in trouble from correcting the teacher’s notes.”

  Of course, he had. I kissed the crease where his smile was deepest, playfully knocking my nose against his. “So, the same, then.”

  “I was lucky. My parents had steady jobs; they were both teachers, did I tell you that?”

  I shook my head. “You told me about your mom. I didn’t realise your dad was one as well.”

  He nodded. “My childhood was nice. Uncomplicated.”

  “What made you want to move and make a name for yourself?”

  “I wanted to. There’s no great story there, I’m afraid. But I saw in my parents the value of giving back, of making people happy by understanding their needs and being in a position to provide them.”

  Fuck. Respect, gratitude, fucking love flooded over me, and I was (a rarity for me) without words.

  “I know it’s not exactly the same, what I do compared to my parents, but I enjoy it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be the same. You’re still doing good, in your own way. You think you’re sneaky but I saw the email about the literacy program.”

  “Don’t be too impressed. It was the least I could do for mom and dad." This beautiful, selfless man. My heart skipped in my chest. “I should be doing more.”

  I scoffed. “Should is a dirty word. Everyone could do more, and if you have the opportunity to, and want to, then do it. But don’t live by the ‘shoulds’. Your life won’t be your own if you do that.”

  His calloused thumb rubbed tenderly at my cheek. “Is that how you’ve lived your life?”

  I nuzzled into the cradle of his palm. “I never wanted to have regrets. Never wanted to look back and wish I’d done something I hadn’t. But,” I looked down, “sometimes I wonder if it’s a trade-off. If one day, I’ll wish that I hadn’t done some of the things I have. Or,” I said, once again thinking about what happened with Pierce, “what would be different if I’d just played by the rules.”

  Sam was unimpressed. “Then you wouldn’t be you.”

  My smile felt weak. It was a nice sentiment, but I never wanted to be blind to the effects of my actions. “Sometimes that isn’t a bad thing.”

  “I’m sorry, and excuse my language here, but fuck that.”

  A surprised laugh escaped me. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

  “That isn’t a bad thing, Tiffany. More people could use your courage.”

  And what could I do but kiss him at that point? If only to silence the confession that was on the tip of my tongue.

  But good God, it was difficult to stop myself. This whole “patience” thing was hard.

  Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t at least edge around the subject. Test the waters. (There was only so much holding back a girl could do).

  “What about you?” I asked. “What’s next? After the bar opens to astounding success, I mean.”

  And if I weren’t so practiced in the art of Sam’s expressions, I wouldn’t have noticed him clamming up. The quick retreat of his gaze, the harsh bobble as he swallowed. The tightness of his smile when he finally said, “Hopefully, a toast to your next success. If you haven’t forgotten me, that is.”

  With a playfulness that I didn’t really feel, I halfheartedly slapped his chest before settling back down against him and tucking my head under his chin to hide my expression. “I don’t think I’d be able to forget you if I tried.”

  I wondered what a relationship with Sam would be like. Probably a lot like working together. Two independent bodies in mutual orbit. We’d talk, tease, fuck. I’d bake, he’d read. We’d walk. Visit the museum. On nights off, we’d sit side by side; I would catch up on whatever show I’d found to binge; he’d catch up on whatever book he was behind on.

  It felt natural, like an extension of who we’d always been. Nothing scary about it. I knew him. He knew me. We liked each other anyway. We’d already fought and made up or moved on a hundred times, so I didn’t have to worry about that. I’d never held back from him, and I had to believe he’d mostly done the same. The idea of more, of (fuck) forever, was more like never saying no to what we had, not saying yes to anything new.

  Nothing would change between us if we made it official. I wouldn’t wake up one day to a new person or expectations that hadn’t existed before. It would be this, wrapped up together, working side by side, as a couple.

  I’d never quite been able to imagine giving my heart away. I’d held too tightly onto it to imagine it any less like giving something up. In the end, it felt as natural as breathing.

  I bit back a smile.

  No, not breathing.

  With Sam, it was a shot of liquor, a burst of flavor that at first burned, then soothed, then swarmed. Until you were loose and relaxed and feeling the best you’ve ever felt.

  Silently, I flattened my palm against his chest, above his breast bone, feeling for his heartbeat. Did it harbor the same sense of belonging that mine did? The same recognition of a kindred, an equal?

  I wanted it to.

  38

  Tiff

  I woke to the soft sounds of music (odd) and the smell of coffee (sweet Jesus, what a wonderful invention). The coffee I found still steaming on my side table, within reach. With greedy hands, I sat up in bed and grabbed it, thankful that it had cooled enough to drink, and I gulped down at least half of it before I threw on shorts and a tank and shuffled out of my bedroom in search of the music.

  What I found was … unexpecte
d.

  Sam was in the kitchen, his back to me as he cracked a few eggs into a bowl. Music was playing softly from his phone, and ...

  He was humming.

  Delight bubbled up through me, sparkling, waking me quicker than the coffee had. With the cup still cradled in my hands, I walked over, silently basking in the beauty of the moment. Like the most vivid dream or a memory I would replay.

  Since neither of us had planned this impromptu sleepover, he had stuck simply to his boxers and t-shirt. I’d seen him lots of different ways, but something about this; the softness of him, the music, (the humming!) … was nice.

  Homey.

  I brought the cup to my lips, hoping the steam would excuse the heat I felt building in my cheeks. They were already a little sore from the strength of my smile. “What are you making?”

  Sam pulled a whisk from a drawer and set to work beating the eggs. There was a half loaf of bread next to him and a finished cup of coffee beside it. He’d been up for a while, then. “French toast. At least, I’m attempting it, but I can’t promise it will be very good. I’m better with dinner foods.”

  My smile widened, taking in his bedhead, the disheveled clothes (was his t-shirt inside out? Fuck, that was so cute), and the awkward way he eyed the pan like he was afraid of it. I’d never seen him unsure of himself before.

  Throwing back the last of my coffee, I hopped up and sat on the free space along the counter. “What have you added to the eggs?”

  A crease appeared in his brow. “Added?”

  Fuck, I was about to start swooning.

  “Ok,” I said, biting back a giddy smile. “First question. Sweet or savory?”

  “Sweet.”

  “Good choice. Second drawer on your right, you’ll find the spices.” I watched him open it. “Grab cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla.”

  He did, placing them next to the bowl.

  “Just add a pinch of all three.”

  He opened the cinnamon, then paused. “How much is a pinch, exactly?”

  I so desperately wanted to kiss him right now. “Just a little bit. Don’t worry about getting it exact. It’s not a science.”