“I can’t help it if I’m adorable. And surprisingly I slept well,” I admit, drinking my morning coffee.
Wes then exchanges the empty cup for a granola bar.
“It’s not breakfast, but we can have a substantial meal after our morning jog,” he says unwrapping his own bar.
“Are you cooking?” I arch an eyebrow as I guide the pup toward the door.
I look over my shoulder glancing at Wes who’s staring at my ass. “Are you joining us, or are you planning on staring at my butt?
“It’s a nice ass,” he says with a smirk. “You’re right though. We should get a dog.”
He’s referring to our conversation from yesterday. I thought the subject was closed and forgotten. It wasn’t.
I pride myself on knowing almost everything that goes through that mind of his, but for the past couple of weeks, I’ve come to realize there’s a big part of him that he doesn’t share, and that I don’t know. We’re not as in sync as I thought we were and I wonder if that should concern me.
“Hey,” he traces my brows. “Whatever is bothering you, let it go. We’re here to relax and think only about us.”
“Only us,” I repeat.
“Yes, this is our beginning. Everything else doesn’t matter. At least not until we’re back in the real world.”
I shiver, afraid of what might be waiting for us outside of our bubble. He’s right though. For now, I won’t let anything tarnish what we’re becoming.
28
Abby
Wes stands in front of the stove, freshly showered, hair still wet, and smelling delicious. Bacon and his natural scent. The kitchen is finally clean after the mess Sterling left last night. He should learn that we don’t work where we eat—literally.
“He cleaned the kitchen,” I say making sure that the island doesn’t have any clay smeared on top of the granite counter and that the floors are clean before Terry ingests any clay.
“You seriously think he cleaned,” Wes groans. “I did. Hopefully, he won’t complain that I put his junk outside.”
He bursts into a loud laugh. Weston has the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy. I stretch my neck looking out the window. The junk is now sitting atop the garden table. The sculpture looks like a twisted piece of pasta.
“The next time I mess up dinner, we’re going to post a picture of it on eBay and call it, art.” He lifts a single eyebrow easily as if waiting for me to laugh along with him.
Poor thing. He’s on a roll cracking one bad joke after the other. Someone should tell him he is no comedian. I wouldn’t dare.
“I don’t understand his abstract art,” I stare at Sterling’s latest piece from afar.
“Who does?” He turns his attention back to the stove.
Do you have to understand art to appreciate it? I don’t ask him. Sterling has thousands of followers on social media who at times call him the modern Rodin. Do they even know Rodin’s work? Apparently, only Sterling Ahern can create a dramatic piece with rough edges that contrasts against the ordinariness of an everyday object. That’s what the experts say about the art work he creates by juxtaposing one of his shapeless clay sculptural pieces with a brick or a metal part, like the wheel of a car.
His versatile and abstract pieces are his best sellers, though Sterling tends to dabble in many other media. I love his paintings. Those Colorado sunsets he creates by the dozen are my favorite ones. What can I say, I’m a sucker for sunsets?
“You’re awfully homey today,” I say while I turn on the Sonos system with my phone and set it to the alternative music station.
“Homey?” He speaks without turning around.
I march toward Wes and hug him from behind kissing his shoulder and leaning my head against him. “Mmm. Eggs and bacon?”
“That’s a nice hug,” he says.
Wes leaves the spatula on the counter, turns around, and hugs me, bending his head and kissing me deeply. He’s right. Changing the definition of our relationship has its perks. I can cling to him without any excuse. It’s nice to be this close to him, to feel the warmth of his taut body against mine. Or sleeping pressed against him, listening to the soothing beat of his heart and tracing the hard lines of his muscles. Everything that I dreamt about but was afraid I’d never have—is happening.
“Huevos rancheros with homemade salsa. I’m frying bacon for my favorite person,” he says, pointing at the fried tortillas with the spatula he holds and the bowl with salsa. “Why’d you say I’m awfully homey, gorgeous?”
“You had the coffee ready before I woke up, and you cleaned up the mess that Sterling made last night.”
“Slugger needs to find another place to work,” he says out loud, but it sounds like an afterthought.
Is he planning on kicking the guy out of Tahoe before the weekend is over?
“His house is an accident waiting to happen,” he continues.
Well, he’s right. Sterling’s house should be condemned. This reminds me that we haven’t spoken about his business, my new role as his accountant, or my idea about buying or renting a space dedicated to his work. It’ll be an investment as much as a saving grace. He lives among torches and oxygen tanks. All in the name of art. I’m afraid that one of these days he’s going to blow himself up either while he’s working or sleeping.
“What smells so good?” Sterling climbs down the stairs.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I greet him, releasing Wes and glaring at his brother. “You’re not allowed to work in the kitchen.”
“I told you she’d get mad at you,” Wes chuckles.
“You didn’t have to pick up,” Sterling walks to the cupboard grabbing a mug and pouring some coffee.
“What the fuck is this?” He spits it over the sink and scrunches his nose.
He empties the cup and begins a new pot of coffee. “Are you two trying to kill me?”
“If you woke up a couple of hours ago, it’d be fresh and hot,” I say, grabbing the tongs from the drawer to serve the bacon and set the fried tortillas on the plate, waiting for Wes to add the eggs on top of them.
I should’ve fried the eggs. This guy can’t make sunny side up eggs to save his life.
His version of huevos rancheros is scrambled eggs on a fried tortilla with salsa. I love that he tries though. He might not be the next Iron Chef, but I adore that he’s willing to do anything for me. This breakfast describes him in a nutshell. If he can’t make it happen the way it’s supposed to be, he’ll find his own way. Nothing is impossible.
“What are your plans for today?” Sterling asks.
Wes and I look at each other and shrug. There aren’t any plans. We tried to come up with something last night that would include Sterling, but the only thing I really want to do is swim and read one of the thrillers in the library.
“We could go kayaking,” Wes offers.
I nod. “Or paddle boarding,” I offer.
“Surfing,” Sterling grins.
“You’d have to drive to California for that,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I would, but you moved away from the ocean.” He gives me a one-shoulder shrug.
Wes cracks his knuckles distractedly. Something is going on inside that head of his, and it involves Sterling. I just don’t know what’s on his mind.
“Wes, why don’t you sell me this house?” Sterling shuffles in his seat, straightening his back.
I gasp, my eyes widen. No, this house is my haven. Well, not mine, but I adore this place. It’s our sanctuary.
“Do you need a realtor?” I speak before Wes has a chance.
“This is her place,” Wes says, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
“Ugh, it’s happening already. I’m becoming the third wheel,” Sterling says, taking a bite of his eggs. “Have you told Mom about this?”
I hold my breath, waiting for Wes’ reply. I haven’t dared to mention it. Each time we’re on the phone, we discuss her new friends, her sister, and her traveling plans. Sooner or later we’re s
itting down to talk about her finances. I doubt she needs me to keep her checkbook. If I could choose, I’d just spend my time with the grants that Ahern Inc. provides to various charities.
“She likes to know what’s going on with baby Wes,” Sterling says in a mocking voice.
“Does she have to know about it?” I squeeze my eyes shut.
Linda is lovely, but a meddler. She likes to give unsolicited advice and know every detail of my dates. I can hear her already, asking about our relationship. I’m mortified just thinking about the conversation and her questions. Will she give me the sex talk again? I cover my eyes with the heels of my hands. God, what if she asks me about her son, just like she did when I went out on my first date?
“Did he know how to pleasure you?”
I had no idea what to answer.
“It’s important to talk about likes and dislikes. You deserved to have an orgasm, just like him.”
“Is everything okay?” Wes asks.
“She’s blushing. I bet Mom’s had the sex talk with her,” Sterling says. “Have you guys discussed any of that, like safe sex and how to paddle your pink canoe?”
“God, please don’t say that.” I shriek, horrified at the embarrassing conversation that’s waiting for me when Linda finds out.
Lowering my hands, I say, “She doesn't have any filter. I’m not going to discuss our relationship with her. What if she asks me if you’re a good lover or if you need pointers?”
“I don’t need pointers,” Wes argues.
Sterling laughs. “I can’t wait to hear how this ends.”
Six years ago, when Wes first told me that his mom was overbearing, I wasn’t sure what he meant. It didn’t take me long to find out. The woman is nosy to the point of being intrusive. Her mission in life is to make everyone’s life more comfortable, but at some point her helpfulness can be overwhelming, to say the least.
“My deepest condolences.” Sterling nods, but there’s a flash of amusement in his eyes. “You two will have to deal with Mama Linda pretty soon. She’ll plan your wedding, your first child, and soon she’ll be telling Abby how to breastfeed the kid.”
“Whoa,” I stop him. “Hold your horses, dude.”
“It’ll be fun.” Sterling wipes his mouth and takes the plate to the sink. “Since you two are on your little honeymoon. I’m going to head back home.”
I’m tempted to stop him. Wes shakes his head, and his eyes plead with me to stay quiet.
“Can I crash at your apartment, Abbster?” Sterling throws his signature puppy-eyed look at me.
Wes grunts, but rises from his seat and finds a set of keys. “You’re the only one allowed in my apartment, Slugger.”
“Ugh, I’m not a kid and I don’t have time to organize parties. Only to par-ty,” he says waving him off. “Seriously though, you have to tell Mom before she feels left out.”
“Have you told Linda?” I cock an eyebrow.
“She knows, but she’s too busy planning her trip to Australia.”
“What happened to Alaska?”
“Yesterday morning she called me to let me know that her plans had changed. She and her friends decided to save the koala population.”
My body sags as relief washes over me. This gives me a few week’s breadth while I think of ways to set boundaries.
29
Wes
My plans are fucked thanks to my brother who asked me to give him a ride to the airport. I spent two hours on the road. While driving up to the airport, Sterling hit me with some news. Since Abby is going to help him with the business side of his career, he wants to move to France or perhaps Italy. He’s searching for inspiration.
It feels like I’m losing him. We fight a lot, and I want to maim him sometimes, but ever since Dad died it seems like we’ve become better friends. No longer just brothers. At least I have Abby near me, for now. She didn’t believe what I said, that we’d spend the next month here in Tahoe. That’s what she needs, and I’m giving it to her. In a month though, she’ll have to decide what she wants to do next. My chest tightens because I already know the answer. She’s staying in Tahoe. I’m not going to think about it. For these next few weeks, I plan to enjoy her and this place, as much as work will allow it.
“Is this what you do on Saturdays when I’m not around, Ahern?” Her voice is soft, sweet.
After I arrived from the airport, I had to work for a couple of hours. The board needed me to rework the last proposal. I type the final lines of the email I’m sending to my assistant and shut down my computer. Once again, the company has disrupted all the carefully laid plans I made while driving back from dropping off Sterling.
“Sometimes it’s inevitable because they keep emailing me, and usually you’re too far away,” I say turning to face her, “Lucky for me, you’re around now, baby.”
I grin to myself once the words I said settle in. Because it’s true, I’m so goddamn lucky to finally have her by my side. Is it luck when I have been the one stopping myself from taking a leap of faith? It doesn’t matter. She’s here with me, and the infinite possibilities of our future are open right in front of us. I stare at her perfect, lush, curvy body. It’s barely covered by a one-piece swimming suit. I lick my lips thinking of all the things we can do today.
“Stop looking at me like I’m little Red Riding Hood and you’re the big bad wolf,” she says.
“A man can always dream. We can cosplay.” I wink at her taking my laptop back to the office.
“Mr. Ahern’s kink is cosplaying.” She smirks.
“Ah, we’re talking kinks, now?” I arch an eyebrow. “Cosplaying doesn’t do it for me. You’ll know what I like when you’re ready.”
I’m tempted to ask her: Are you a virgin? It’s right on the tip of my tongue. Would she care to know that I like rough sex? Blindfolds, ties, and my biggest fantasy is to claim her entirely. Slide my dick down her pussy, those beautiful tits, into her mouth … and that gorgeous ass.
“Because I’m so innocent you think I’ve never heard of …” she covers her mouth. “S-E-X.”
“Have you?” I challenge her.
“Heard about the birds and the bees? Of course. We had health class at school,” she says casually, biting her lip, her eyes lost somewhere else.
What are you hiding?
“Why don’t we forget about work and have a little fun?” She changes the entire conversation. “Race you to the pool?”
As she’s about to take off, I ask, “Hey, do you want to try that new bar down the South Shore?”
The owner of Edgewood stopped by the table last night to greet us and mentioned the new restaurant and bar on the south side of the lake. He said it’s been getting rave reviews. They have the best selection of single malt scotch in the area.
“Are we having dinner out?” she asks, scrunching her nose.
“I was thinking on going down to the pool first. We can cook pasta or throw a couple of steaks on the grill. Afterward we can head to the bar,” I offer, holding back the words let’s just have sex.
“Hopefully we can get to the lake tomorrow,” she says, glancing at it.
Previously I had planned to use the boat or maybe the paddle board. Take a hike around the area and discuss the possibility of owning a dog. Not that we would do it now. It can wait. I’d like to research breeds and discuss whether we want a puppy or to adopt a rescue. Those are discussions we’ll have to shelf for another time.
Right now, I want to eat her.
“Sounds like a plan. Maybe we can discuss the grants and some of the ideas I have in mind for the second part of the year,” she says leaving my room. “Get dressed, I’ll be downstairs waiting for you.”
Before I put on my swimming suit, I go to the bathroom and jack off, thinking about tasting her, driving myself deep inside her.
Fuck. I cry as I come hard on my hand wishing it was hers, her mouth, or better yet, her pussy.
— — —
We spend a long time swimming. I ev
entually throw a couple of tuna steaks on the grill while Abby tosses a salad and opens a bottle of Zinfandel. At eight, we drive to McLadden’s on the other side of the lake. We walk through the old cabin that’s been refurbished into a bar. We sit outside by the garden where soft jazz plays. The rustic furniture matches the ambiance. They don’t have tables, but rather groups of chairs surround fire pits with small trays placed on stands in between the chairs. The waiters wear flannel shirts, jeans, and cowboy boots.
“Their uniform is like mountain man meets Clint Eastwood,” Abby says, sinking down onto one of the chairs and moving the tray. “The cushions are comfortable and smart. They drilled these things to the ground.”
She wiggles her ass, and I close my eyes because her breasts bounce with the movement. She’s not wearing a fucking bra. We spent too much time by the pool, and even though it was a bit cloudy, her shoulder got a little sunburn. She’s been trying my patience all day. The woman rubbed her perfect body against mine while we played in the water.
“There’s nothing fruity,” she says handing me the drink menu and grabbing the one for food instead. “We could order some tapas and wine.”
“Good choice,” I say, lifting my hand and calling the server.
“Just like when we went to Spain,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “Remember our last trip there?”
How could I forget it? She finished her summer job here in Tahoe and had three weeks left of vacation before she had to go back to school. We decided to spend them in Spain and Italy, our favorite countries. There’s something about both countries, their music, their food, as well as the hospitality, that makes us want to stay there. She wants to buy a house either in Mallorca or Tuscany.
“We should plan a new adventure,” she suggests.
“You know, I miss this. Being able to hang out with you without any worries.”
She huffs, slumping a little in her chair. “Well, except we have to go back soon, don’t we?”
Begin with You Page 15
